


Up North

by TheStrangeSeaWolf



Series: The Hour Continued [3]
Category: The Hour (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Escape, F/M, Intrusive Thoughts, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, POV Lix Storm, POV Randall Brown, Scotland, Soulmates, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:09:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 37
Words: 28,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26494642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheStrangeSeaWolf/pseuds/TheStrangeSeaWolf
Summary: Randall needs a break from the world. He is fleeing from London to a quiet and rough place in the North of Scotland. Will Lix stay behind? Or will she come looking for her soulmate who is so obviously not okay?You might want to readWorlds ApartandOne More Nightfirst.
Relationships: Bel Rowley & Lix Storm, Randall Brown/Lix Storm
Series: The Hour Continued [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2013298
Comments: 76
Kudos: 69





	1. Tuesday, 1:45 p.m. Randall’s Office, London

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by [A_Firewatchers_Daughter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Firewatchers_Daughter/pseuds/A_Firewatchers_Daughter) who thought that Randall had maybe “an ’I need a break from the world’ cottage” somewhere in the North and that he was “knowing some of the locals even though he's quiet, knowing where does a nice meal, knowing where all the old tracks take you.” You will find her version in [Burning House](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26226271/chapters/63830719), highly recommended. 
> 
> I took a different road with the same topic. While telling it, I will interchange viewpoints so that you will sometimes have Randall’s and sometimes Lix’s side of the story.
> 
> The people we meet in the North will certainly speak in their own dialect, using their own idioms and even have a word in Gaelic every now and then. I, however, spare you the attempt to do this in writing, except they will use “lad” and “lass” instead of “boy/man” or “girl/woman”. You might imagine how they talk.
> 
> Berriedale is a real place in the North of Scotland. Every place, cottage, pub, or local I describe in this fic, however, is purely fictional and not based on anybody or any place in real life.
> 
> The story itself deals with a lot of topics which might trigger you if you have dealt or are dealing with depression, intrusive thoughts, suicidal thoughts, or alcoholism. They are a major part of the story so I can’t recommend leaving certain chapters out as you will not understand what happened if you do. If you choose to read on, you might want to specifically brace yourself for chapter 14, 17, and 29. 
> 
> Always know that, very much like Randall, you are more loved than you think.
> 
> The first chapter shows Randall's point of view. In the upcoming chapters you will find the name of the one who's thoughts you will read and eyes you will have in brackets in the title.

He needed to head out of the city. It was all too loud, too close, too much.

He couldn’t hear himself _think_ anymore.

And so, he did what he always did. He had carefully tied up the lose ends and shared responsibilities in a nearly unperceivable manner over the run of the last two weeks. Someone who _knew_ he was planning to escape for a few days would have noticed but for everybody else it seemed to be business as usual. It was basically Randall making sure _The Hour_ would run with Randall being written out of the script. He was good at doing this. Had done it a couple of times already. No one had ever noticed it.

Only that this time there was something a bit different.

 _Lix_.

It would not be so easy to trick her.

They left each other enough breathing space in their cautiously developing relationship. As much as he would have loved to spend every minute with her, he also knew she needed her freedom and he had to avoid anything that made her feel besieged.

He, the systematical one, had developed a routine of asking her out for dinner, cinema, or just a stroll in the park every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. On those three days he had her as close as he wanted to have her. A whole evening, night, and breakfast together. Sometimes they even included the whole Sunday. He would always ask, of course, and accept if she had other plans or didn’t want to have him near. She had never refused so far.

But he needed to get away longer than three days. A week, at least. Away from all this…

_Not now, Randall!_

Up North.

But what he did there was too hard to explain. She wouldn’t understand.

He was ready to tell her nearly everything about him. Unlike anyone else, she was allowed to see his flaws and his scars and know about every mistake he had made in his life. Yet, there were still some areas in his dark soul even she shouldn’t be confronted with.

Not so early in their relationship.

They both needed time to heal.

It would take time.

A lot of time.

He sighed and took one last look at his office.

Everything was exactly right.

Everything was prepared.

Nothing left to chance.

Just one more thing to do.

He locked the door and headed towards Lix’s office.


	2. Tuesday, 1:50 p.m., Lix’s Office, London {Randall}

He had calculated correctly. She wasn’t there. Out for a lunch break, a tea, and probably a whisky or three with Bel. Drowning the fact that they still didn’t know if Freddie would ever wake up from his coma and if so, if he would be still the same man or if his brain was damaged permanently.

He couldn’t help feeling guilty for what had happened to Freddie. Of course, it had been Freddie’s story. His _pursuit_ , even. But he should have taken better care of the boy. He had been in his shoes when he was younger. He knew the excitement of the chase, the feeling of making the world a bit better by investigating and pulling the bad guys out in the open. It was always a dangerous thing to do, yet, there was a point where it was getting too close to the top, too dangerous to keep on pushing and digging. He knew it, he saw it, he was older and wiser, he should have protected Freddie better instead of seeing just the potential of the story for _The Hour_.

He sighed.

_Not now, Randall!_

He forced himself to stop thinking about it.

He thought about Lix.

He hated that she drank so much but then again, he was in no position to blame her. He had had his fair share of drunken episodes throughout his life and he sure had a lot of other unhealthy habits.

_Not now, Randall!_

He quietly sat down at her desk and placed a sheet of paper in her typewriter.

He knew his handwriting would be unsteady if he wrote something personal. Not that it would be hard to read, it would be as accurate as ever, but his emotions would give him away. She would notice that his hands had been trembling while writing it and that would worry her.

She shouldn’t have to worry about him.

It was of utter importance that this message wouldn’t worry her.

It should put her mind at ease.

She should know that she didn’t need to worry about him.

He had carefully composed the message in his head. In fact, the whole last week he had worked on this short message in his head whenever he was not occupied with something else in planning his escape.

He didn’t want to lie to Lix, yet, she shouldn’t worry about him. She should know that it had nothing to do with her or their relationship. That he just needed to leave now and come back when he had regained his composure again.

He began to type. Not fast and furious like Lix, but calm, slow, exact, a steady movement of the fingers from start to finish. Like a symphony.

`Dear Lix,`

`I have to leave London for a few days to see an old friend.`

He had long contemplated to add a “don’t worry” here but figured it would do exactly the opposite to Lix. It would set her into a long spiral of worrying what had happened if he felt the need to add the words that she shouldn’t worry.

Instead he typed:

`I’ll be back next Tuesday.`

That was good. It was a promise, and she knew he always kept his promises.

It was also a promise to himself, something that would force him back. A fixed appointment he made with Lix. If he had made the appointment just with himself it would be an easy one to break, even for his usually obsessively controlled self. But if he _promised it to Lix_ , he would keep it at all cost even if hell should bar the way.

He had thought about the last sentence a lot.

“I love you” would probably have her worried. Something in having it typed out didn’t seem right. He loved her with all his heart, all his soul and every single part of his body, but still, it remained something to be whispered in her ear, not something that should be put on paper.

“Keep a good watch over the kids,” made him smile in a bitter-sweet way, as they sometimes said that the team of _The Hour_ was like family to them. Still, they made this joke when they were both relaxed and it had no connotation to their loss and the dark shadows of the past.

“Take good care of you,” encompassed all he wanted to say. Yet, he wondered if she would worry when he thought she should take care. That she would assume he was out to investigate something potentially dangerous.

`See you! `

He typed instead.

He took the letter from the typewriter, signed it with his favorite fountain pen, carefully let the ink dry, folded it accurately and put it in an envelope.

“Lix”

He simply wrote on it before placing it between the keys of her typewriter, exactly in the middle.

“I love you, Lix Storm. Keep a good watch over the kids and especially, take good care of you.”

He murmured to the typewriter.

Then he left her office and the building, heading North.


	3. Tuesday, 7 p.m., Lix’s Office, London {Lix}

She held the letter in her hand and read it over and over again.

`Dear Lix,`

`I have to leave London for a few days to see an old friend.`

`I’ll be back next Tuesday.`

`See you! `

_Randall ._

Her initial feeling had been right. Something was wrong with Randall. She had had this feeling throughout the last few days.

Nothing in particular, nothing she could point her finger to and say “there”. But something was different. She felt it more than she saw it.

And especially she sensed it last Sunday.

It had been something in the way he held her. As if she would disappear if he didn’t hold her tight. And something about the way he had kissed her goodbye. As if it was the last time he could do it. As if he were leaving for the war, uncertain if he would make it back alive.

And now this letter confirmed it.

It was very distinctively Randall – by being exactly _not_ Randall.

It told her he was not okay.

He was not okay, and he desperately tried to hide _how much._ He tried not to make her worried by choosing his words very carefully.

And _that_ was what worried her.

She opened her desk and grabbed the bottle of whisky. She contemplated to take out a glass, too, but decided she didn’t need one. Randall wasn’t here to frown upon it. Neither on her drinking as such nor on drinking straight from the bottle.

She took a big swig.

It was past closing time, everybody had gone home, so no one would disturb her. She could sit here and drink and try to make sense of the letter.

Randall was not okay.

Randall ran away.

Where did he run _to_?

And what did he run _from_?

She took the next big swig.

Did he run from _her_?

Did she come too close?

Did she disappoint him?

Another swig.

Maybe he already regretted that he asked her to marry him?

She took a long hard stare at the bottle.

Probably.

Probably because she drank.

Probably because she was complicated.

Probably because she was a terrible person.

Probably because she could not love him the way he deserved it.

Probably because she was not as open with her feelings as he was.

Probably because she was too old for children.

Probably because she always reminded him that she had destroyed their chances of having a family of their own.

She took another swig and realized that the bottle wasn’t half-full anymore. How full had it been when she started drinking from it, tonight? She couldn’t quite remember. She shrugged and took another swig.

She needed to think, and drinking helped her to think.

Clearly, he wanted to break up with her, but didn’t find the courage.

Instead he left.

To do what?

Find the courage?

Find it where?

She re-read the letter for the umpteenth time while taking another long sip.

`I have to leave London for a few days to see an old friend.`

An old friend?

Randall had never mentioned a friend.

He sometimes mentioned his father.

But his father was dead.

She took another swig, eying the whisky level in the bottle suspiciously. Those bottles really became empty fast, nowadays.

Hadn’t he once mentioned that he saw death not like an enemy?

That death was an old friend who laid his hand on your shoulder and told you it was time to go?

And the best way to go was not to put up a big fight or try to evade it?

That it was best to greet the old friend?

That, if you had the chance, it was even better going towards him, like you would do to greet a very good friend?

The thought scared her, and so, she took another sip.

Could it mean that he wanted to meet his “old friend” _death_?

Was this a suicide note?

She grabbed the bottle, jumped to her feet, stumbled, and fell towards the wall.

Probably drank a bit much today, even for her standards.

Using the wall in her back for support, she let herself carefully slide to the ground.

She couldn’t see the letter anymore, but it had already burnt itself into her mind:

`See you! `

_Randall ._

See you?

See you on the other side?

She emptied the bottle and buried her head in her arms.

Unable to do anything else in her drunk state she started to sob helplessly, her sobs echoing from her office walls until she had cried herself to sleep.


	4. Tuesday, 7 p.m., on the road near Broxbourne, heading North {Randall}

Once he had passed the outskirts of London, he already felt a bit better.

It would be a hellish drive through the night, 16 hours if all went well, and he would be in his favorite spot late in the morning. It was stressful, his back would hurt like hell, he would be tired, but it was worth it.

He needed to calm down the chaos and the pain inside.

He needed to get away from it all.

He had to feel himself again.

The first few hours were stressful as the roads were still crowded and he was passing the bigger cities and industrial areas. It was high time they finished works on the new motorway. He hoped that next time, it would have been opened.

Next time…

_Not now, Randall!_

The sun was setting, and he drove into the night.

After another two hours, towns and villages got fewer until there were just some lights from houses and farms along the road every now and then.

His mind went into autopilot.

His eyes were scanning the road for pedestrians or animals crossing it, his hands were holding the wheel and shifting the gears, his feet were operating the pedals, he was highly focused on driving.

Yet, his brain did nothing at all. It was in a numb state, he was barring himself from thinking or feeling anything.

A man on autopilot.

A man protecting himself.

Protecting himself until he would have reached his special place.

His safe haven.

The place where he could be himself.

The place where he didn’t have to control everything he did and said.

The place where it wasn’t necessary he kept his composure.

The place where he didn’t have to make decisions that had consequences for others.

The place where he was not responsible for other people.

The place where he was only responsible for himself.

The place where he could simply _be_.


	5. Wednesday, 6:20 a.m., Lix’s Office, London {Lix}

She woke up on the floor, crouched like an embryo. She felt terrible. Her head was throbbing, her mouth was dry, her back, her arms, her legs, her whole body ached from having spent hours sleeping on the hard floor.

She slowly got to her feet, trying to get the blood flowing in all the limp body parts which had been in a less than natural position for too long.

She was used to feeling terrible in the morning. Yet, this morning she felt even more terrible when she remembered why she passed out on the floor last night.

Randall.

She took a seat at her desk and stared at his letter again.

`Dear Lix,`

`I have to leave London for a few days to see an old friend.`

`I’ll be back next Tuesday.`

`See you! `

_Randall ._

She massaged her temples with her fingertips to drive the headache out and get her brain cells thinking again. She realized that this wouldn’t work without coffee.

She looked at her watch: Half past six.

Still some time until the first early birds would appear in the office.

She took some fresh clothes and her toilet bag out of the cupboard next to the window. She often slept in the office when she had a story to finish or when she simply didn’t want to go home. Everybody knew, but no one dared to question her habits.

No one dared to question Lix Storm.

She looked into the mirror in the bathroom and wondered if this was a good thing. Maybe, if they would question her more, she wouldn’t have to do it herself so often.

She dismissed the thought. It would only lead to useless speculation and self-loathing. She cleaned herself as far as it was possible within the limited facilities, put her make-up on and got dressed.

Then, she made herself a cup of coffee and retreated to her desk, staring at Randall’s letter again.

No, this wasn’t a suicide note. What was she thinking last night? Maybe Randall was right about drinking. She always had the impression it helped her to think, but now, with a clearer head, she had to admit that it wasn’t the case.

Randall said he would be back next Tuesday. The one thing she knew about suicidal behavior – and she wished she wouldn’t know it so well – was that one didn’t make promises and fixed appointments if one were planning to kill oneself. At least not if one was structured like Randall Brown. If he said he would be there on Tuesday, he would be there even if it meant that he had to walk between enemy lines or through a mine field.

The realization relieved some of her worries, but not all of them.

Why didn’t he tell her what he was doing? Why did he choose a letter instead of telling her straight to her face? Why putting in a lot of effort in a wording that was nowhere near Randall’s usual way of wording things?

Another woman?

Randall had told her about his past. He had been brutally honest about it and so, it seemed highly unlikely at first sight.

But was it, really?

He had admitted that he often cared deeply about the women he had a relationship with. He had said that he had stopped going into relationships after a while because he wasn’t able to love them the way they deserved, but maybe there was still someone somewhere who was special to him? Who he wasn’t able to let go so easily?

She felt a sting of jealousy in her heart.

On the other hand, she had no doubt he truly loved her. If there was another woman, she was certain he just wanted to tell her personally that he got engaged. It was not endangering their relationship in any way. She could tell by the way Randall acted around her. The way he looked at her. The way he held her. The way he kissed her.

She let out a deep-drawn sigh.

She missed him.


	6. Wednesday, 10:25 p.m., BBC main building, London {Lix}

Lix was on autopilot.

She was a professional so she could be the _Head of Foreign Desk_ throughout the day, giving orders, organizing things, even writing without being really mentally involved. It wouldn’t have been so easy if she had a big story to work on, but all those important things she had delegated to others so she could function without messing something up.

Internally, she tried everything not to worry.

Randall was alright.

He had said he would be back next Tuesday so there was no reason to worry about him.

Yet, she worried.

Whenever the letter crawled back into her mind, she worried again.

_Randall was not okay._

She knew it.

He was not okay but for some reason he didn’t want to share what troubled him.

She had to accept that.

She didn’t own him.

It was his to decide what she was allowed and not allowed to know.

Yet, she worried.

She went for lunch with Bel, but for the first time in months she dodged the alcohol.

Bel looked at her, surprised.

“What’s wrong, Lix?”

“Nothing, darling, don’t worry.”

“You just said ‘no’ to a glass of wine, Lix. _Of course_ , I worry.”

Lix smiled at the younger woman.

They had grown really close the past few months but especially close since Freddie was in hospital. Their grief was different, yet, grieving about different things had deepened their bond, nonetheless.

“It’s nothing, darling, really. Nothing I should worry about and neither should it bother you.”

“Lix, honey, you helped me so much the last few weeks and I burdened you with my grief and my insecurities, please, give me a chance to return the favor. What is it?”

Should she reveal she had a relationship with their boss? So far, they had kept it secret. Which was, in all honesty, easier for her than for him. Randall abhorred lying and he would have shouted it from the rooftops if she had let him. She, however, thought more pragmatic and therefore deemed it foolish to risk the possibility of working together as the brilliant team they were.

But Bel wasn’t stupid. Bel was a good journalist and as such, perceptive. She wouldn’t be surprised if she already knew. And maybe, she could share her worries without revealing too much.

She sighed, pulled the letter from her pocket, and handed it over to Bel.

“Yeah, I thought me as much. He has cancelled the meetings for this week and delegated a lot of his tasks to me. He didn’t explicitly tell me he was going away for a few days, but this just confirms what I already suspected,” Bel paused, looking at Lix. “What worries you about that?”

Lix had finished her plate and lit a cigarette.

“I told you it was nothing. If you see nothing odd about it, neither should I, I guess.”

Bel eyed her suspiciously. She slowly chewed on her last bite, then leaned back.

“You suspect he is meeting with another woman.”

Lix gulped. Both, at Bel coming up with a similar explanation as herself and at the fact that Bel assumed it could be a problem for Lix if Randall met with _another_ woman. She shortly thought about telling Bel everything but then decided it was wiser to play dumb.

“Ah, well, that would be quite a relief, wouldn’t it? Randall having some interests outside _The Hour_ , I mean?”

Both women shared a giggle. Bel was now finished eating, too, ordered a gin and lit a cigarette.

“In all seriousness, though, Lix, it was what I assumed when Randall first did that. That there was a woman – or a man – somewhere he spent a few days seeing the countryside with.”

This was the second time Bel mentioned that Randall had done this before. She hadn’t noticed. Well, when he first started off as _Head of News_ she had been happy not to be too close to him, so she hadn’t consciously recognized when he was not in the office.

“I never recognized it before,” Lix said truthfully.

“You are comparably independent as _Foreign,_ Lix. I, on the other hand, have to keep the whole place running. So, of course, I am more perceptive to such things. Although I would have assumed…” She trailed off and eyed Lix with an intense stare.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing. It is just… I know that you have a past together, the two of you. Maybe that’s why you sometimes seem… closer than others, that’s all.”

Bel shrugged and Lix tried everything to keep her blushing at a minimum.

“As you said, we have a past together. You never lose a certain level of intimacy, no matter how much time has passed.”

She lit another cigarette.

“Which makes it odder that he hasn’t told you where he is going and which makes you worried, in return.”

Bel now looked at her as if she was seeing right inside her soul. It was an unpleasant experience and Lix immediately averted her eyes, acting as if she had just discovered a lint on her skirt.

When she was sure she could face Bel again without blushing she looked up and asked straight away:

“You don’t have any idea where he is going to when he does that, Bel?”


	7. Wednesday, 10:25 a.m., unnamed place near Berriedale {Randall}

It was a new day and the autumn sun was painting the hills, the mountains and the meadows in a strange golden light that made Randall think of fairytales and the ancient sagas of the North. He drove the few last miles along the shoreline, then turned left driving up the gravel road to a tiny cottage.

Home.

Well, he was not born here, far from it, but coming here always made him feel like he was coming home.

He took his small suitcase and made sure that everything was just like he had left it and exactly like it needed to be.

It was.

The people who took care of the cottage when he was away had not touched anything they didn’t need to touch.

He unpacked and changed his shoes to some that were more fitting for a walk.

He was dead tired, but he didn’t allow himself to rest just now.

Utter exhaustion was part of his plan.

He closed the door behind him, and walked up the dirt track to the small hill from which he could see both: the mountains towering higher and higher on one side, and the seemingly endless sea on the other. He could not see the shore, but he heard the waves crashing far beneath him. Between the mountains and the shore lay a few magically green meadows. If this were one of the main touristic attractions, someone would have placed sheep on them, so it would look even more stereotypically Scottish. But this wasn’t a touristic attraction.

It was one of the reasons why he loved it: Nobody came here.

Except Randall Brown.

When he reached the top of the hill, he looked out to the horizon, first to the ocean, then to the mountains.

He slowly allowed his thoughts to crawl back into his mind.

The very first thought he had was that he would love to show this place to Lix.

It surprised and disturbed him that she was the first thing on his mind.

He missed her.


	8. Wednesday, 1:30 p.m., BBC main building, London {Lix}

“You don’t have any idea where he is going to when he does that, Bel?”

It took Lix all her effort to sound only mildly interested and not like an excited teenager at the prospect of getting a motorbike.

“Actually, I do. Or, better, I might have an idea…” Bel smiled slightly. Obviously, she had sensed Lix’s excitement. “I once mentioned that I needed to attend a wedding in Golspie and he knew that place because the train passed the station when he went to a place higher North where he mentioned having a cottage.”

“Where?” She knew she had dropped her cover. She could feel her eyes glowing and by the smile Bel gave her, she knew that it didn’t make much sense to deny it. She _needed_ to know it.

“Oh…” Bel frowned, obviously trying to uncover the information buried in her head, “something with… -dale. Perriedale? Bellydale? Something like that. I don’t know the North that well. And it’s not directly there. The cottage is somewhere up in the mountains as far as I understood.”

Lix stored this information carefully in her brain. At least she had something to work with, now.

“Oh, Lix, I know _that_ face…”

Bel grinned as she finished her cigarette.

“Which face?”

Lix tried hard to sound innocent.

“It is the face you put on when you caught the first glimpse of a smashing story. It is the face of the lioness that has spotted the weakest member of the herd and will now start to isolate it and hunt it down.”

“Is it?”

“It is, Lix, it is. You have such a bad poker face. But Lix,” suddenly the younger woman grabbed her hand, “I’m not sure if it is wise to chase after a man who so desperately tries not to be followed. If he needed to get away for whatever reason, maybe it is better to let him run free and sort things out for himself? Wait until he comes back? If he loves you, he will tell you what he has done up there.”

Lix was taken aback. She stared at Bel, unable to reply something.

“Don’t deny it, Lix. You love him. And for what it’s worth, I think he loves you, too. Hard to tell with all that fidgeting, but there is a certain way… he seems to be not _as_ strange when he is around you, more normal, maybe a bit more relaxed. Maybe you should give it a shot, once he is back. He might be too repressed to do the first step.”

It took Lix an enormous amount of effort not to snort. Well, at least she was not _that_ bad at keeping it secret. Neither was Randall. She squeezed the hand of the younger woman reassuringly.

“I might consider it, Bel. Promise! Now, shall we go back to the office?”


	9. Wednesday, 2:15 p.m., Lix’s Office, London {Lix}

As soon as Lix was in her office, she pulled out the atlas from her bookshelf. She searched for Golspie, which was much higher up North than she had recalled. But the map was not detailed enough to help her further.

She went to Freddie’s office. He always had a stash of more detailed maps if he needed to do research somewhere in the country. She found the one for Northern Scotland and unfolded it on his desk.

She found Golspie again, then let her finger travel along the train tracks to look for the place in question.

No Perriedale or Bellydale.

Achrimsdale. Helmsdale. Navidale. Ousdale. Berriedale.

Quite a few -dales. Which one was it?

Helmsdale got a station. But it didn’t sound like what Bel had mentioned. Berriedale sounded more like it but didn’t have a station.

She startled when she heard someone clearing her throat behind her.

Bel.

“You really want to hunt him down, it seems?”

It was not a question. It was a statement.

The funny thing was that it would be useless to explain it to Bel. Bel understood simple emotions. Like jealousy. Not trusting the other. Wanting to track him down, catch him with his pants down, and hold him accountable.

Bel would not understand the complex emotion that guided Lix’s actions. She trusted Randall. Even if there was another woman, she trusted him to handle it the way he deemed right. She didn’t possess Randall and Randall didn’t possess her. It was something else.

It was the eerie feeling she had whenever she read Randall’s note. The feeling that told her he was not alright. A feeling she couldn’t appease no matter how often she told herself that he gave her a promise to be back next Tuesday. The feeling that she just had to find him and see if he was okay for herself. The feeling he might need her right now.

Even if they had spent most of their lives apart, there was a strong bond between them. A bond that would always be there even if they hadn’t decided to marry. Soulmates. She just knew her soulmate was not okay, and she needed to be by his side.

She was worried sick.

She looked at Bel who smoked her cigarette and smirked.

“Yes. Yes, Bel, I want to hunt him down.”

It was the far easier explanation.

“Does any of those names sound familiar: Achrimsdale… Helmsdale… Navidale… Ousdale… Berriedale,” she read out loud, eyes glued to the map.

“Berriedale!” Bel exclaimed. “I’m rather sure, Berriedale was it.”

Lix nodded and looked at the map. Next to the sea, next to the mountains, a really small village. Not even a proper village, more an area with small cottages and farms scattered all over the area with miles to walk in between. The absolute minimum of people. The maximum of loneliness. If he had a cottage somewhere up the hills it would be really difficult to find him. This place sounded _exactly_ like Randall.

“Well, it might be of interest to you that his car is gone.” Bel remarked.

Randall had bought a new car recently but most of the time it stood in the car park of the BBC. He didn’t want to risk it being damaged in the London traffic. It was one of his quirks his colleagues loved to joke about.

Lix frowned and looked at the map. Then, she was lining out some roads with her finger. She calculated distances in her head. She shook her head and calculated again.

“That’s ridiculous! That would be…”

She calculated again.

“14 hours. More likely 16 to 18, he has to stop for fuel, going to the toilet, eating and drinking something. That’s ridiculous! Nobody would do that to himself.”

She looked up and her eyes met Bel’s.

“Except Randall.” Bel said calmly. “That way, no one bothers him on the train.”

Lix nodded slowly, imagining a lot of other things that would bother Randall on a train. While she could easily picture him driving through the night, only taking a break when the car needed it, not when he himself needed it.

She sighed.

No, he was most definitely not okay. This was a desperate man on the flight. She had to find him.

“Bel, I need a few days off.”

“I know, Lix, I know,” Bel sighed.

Bel was maybe not able to understand what drove Lix to seek Randall out, but she did understand what Lix needed.

“Go and find him if it is so important to you. I will arrange everything else. Sleepers to Inverness go from Euston. You have plenty of time to pack and go there if you leave now.”

Lix looked up from the map, surprised. Bel just winked at her, then turned and left her alone.


	10. Wednesday, 5:30 p.m., Randall’s cottage near Berriedale {Randall}

He needed a few things.

He yawned while making the list. The fresh air and the long walk had both added to the exhaustion. He looked at his watch. Half past five. He was awake for a good 36 hours now and hadn’t eaten anything since his last break when driving up here, which had been nine hours ago.

A good meal at the pub/shop/post office in Berriedale would ensure he was tired enough to guarantee him at least nine hours of undisturbed, dreamless sleep when he came back.

The thought alone already brightened his mood.

He hated his nightmares. It was high time he outsmarted them before they could drive him crazy.

He finished the list, put on his coat, and went to the car.

“Randall! Long time, no see!”

Ian Gunn, shop owner, innkeeper, postmaster, plumber and oral local newspaper of the area greeted him enthusiastically, shaking his hand as if he intended to separate it from his body and sell it at his shop. Ian was good-natured and affectionate, although a bit loud for Randall’s liking.

They chatted a bit about the weather, on Randall’s side to fulfill the expectation to do small talk, on Ian’s side out of passion for cloud formations and agricultural implications. If you touched one of Ian’s favorite topics, it was nearly impossible to stop him from telling you _everything_ that came into his mind about them. Randall remembered this fact when it was already to late.

“But, for St. Gilbert’s sake, you look terrible, Randall. You need a drink and something to eat by the looks of it!” Ian suddenly exclaimed.

Randall nodded his agreement, and before he could specify his wishes he was moved to a table and forced to sit down. Ian disappeared, and only a few minutes later a bowl of steaming stew and a pint of stout sat before Randall.

“Sorry, Ian, I don’t drink.” he uttered.

Ian looked at him as if he was an alien.

“I sure know that, Randall. But this is a beer, not a drink.”

Randall made an apologizing gesture.

“Do you happen to have an orange juice for me?”

“Very well, an _orange juice,_ your royal highness!”

Ian took a large swig from the beer, moved behind the counter to find a bottle of juice and mumbled a local saying that more or less meant that a man who didn’t drink was just as useless as a cat that didn’t catch mice. 

Randall grinned. Ian _loved_ to make fun of his customers and he wouldn’t be surprised if he had drought the pint deliberately, so he had an excuse to drink it himself.

“Randall Brown, the only sober soul North of Inverness!”

Someone said in a soft voice behind him and gently touched his shoulder. He looked up to see Elisabeth Lymont smiling down at him. 

Like Ian, Elisabeth “Lissy” Lymont was a woman of many talents with multiple jobs that helped the small community surviving. Namely, she helped Ian to keep the pub, the shop and the few guest rooms clean, served as waitress when the pub got crowded with locals in the evenings, had a beautiful voice to entertain the guests if a band should happen to stop by, and was, by and large, known as “the night life of the county”. As such, she was of course frowned upon by some, but then again, she was also something like the therapist of the county and it was said that she probably mended more marriages than men could destroy.

Randall got up and pecked a chaste kiss on her cheek. Lissy pulled him into a tight and not so chaste embrace.

“I don’t recall you being so restrained, Randall,” she murmured next to his ear.

“Things change, Lissy,” he said as he carefully freed himself from her vice grip, “I’m engaged.”

“Really?”

She answered and suddenly her whole face was one single happy smile from her lips to her eyes to the wrinkles on her forehead.

“I’m so happy for both of you, Randall.”

She hugged him again, this time in an obvious attempt to keep it chaste, failing miserably.

“Congratulations, lad!”

Ian came with the glass of juice, set it down on the table and slapped Randall’s shoulder multiple times. It felt like an attempt to drive him into the ground, but it was just Ian’s way of telling another man he was happy for him.

Now both, Ian and Lissy wanted to know _everything_ about it. Randall took a sip of juice. It tasted strange and he assumed that probably orange juice was not among the drinks frequently requested in this pub. It probably had passed its expiration date some time ago. He shortly thought about rejecting it but when he looked into Ian’s eager face, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It was still drinkable, he supposed.

He nodded into Ian’s direction, mumbled “slàinte”, and willed it down in three large gulps.

Ian immediately took his glass and had another drink ready before Randall could voice his protest or order something different.

“Now, tell us about her, Randall!”

Lissy said after Randall had at least managed to eat three spoons of stew.

And so, he started to tell them about Lix. He had told Lissy about Lix before and it seemed that since he had mentioned her name, Lissy’s eyes twinkled even brighter. He thought that he had never seen someone being so genuinely happy about someone else’s happiness before. It warmed his heart. He always had known what a kind soul Lissy was, taking care not only of the physical but also of the mental needs of her customers, but just now he realized _how much_ she cared about their wellbeing. 

His mouth felt dry even after he willed the second glass of juice down. He held tight to his glass and forced Ian to bring him a coke next. Ian shrugged and brought him a glass of coke instead. The coke tasted strange, too. Maybe this just wasn’t a place for non-alcoholic drinks.

He sighed and tried to get more of the stew inside his stomach, while Ian and Lissy kept interrogating him. He didn’t know it was _that_ difficult to eat something in Scotland. But then again, he didn’t recall him being as chatty as he was tonight.

And he didn’t recall his vision was that blurry…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Gunn Arms in Berriedale is a fictional place, Ian, Lissy, and whatever locals will appear in this fic are fictional characters, not based on any living people neither from Berriedale nor from somewhere else.


	11. Thursday, 11:55 a.m., Gunn Arms, Berriedale {Randall}

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might want to avoid this chapter and read it later if you are currently hungover.  
> It is not explicit, though.

He woke up in a room that somehow seemed familiar. For a short moment he couldn’t place where he was. Or when. The last time he saw this room had been months ago. He pinched his eyes, fighting a terrible headache.

He was in one of the guest rooms of the pub.

He glanced at his watch on the bedside table. It was five minutes before noon. 

He tried to recall how he had ended up here but couldn’t remember anything after the stew.

The thought alone made him sick and he quickly got up and reached the washbowl just in time.

Slowly, he recovered and tried to piece himself together again.

What had happened last night?

He just wore his underpants, nothing else.

He saw the rest of his clothes in an untidy heap on a chair. 

The terrible feeling in his stomach this time wasn’t sickness, it was the eerie feeling that something had happened in this bedroom last night that he didn’t remember.

He would  _never_ discard his clothes this carelessly.

Not as long as all his senses were intact.

What if they hadn’t been?

He felt like he had drunk too much, yesterday.

But he had only two glasses of orange juice and one coke.

The thought alone made him sick again.

Hungover.

He was truly, properly hungover.

How could  _this_ happen?

He always was careful not to have a fallback in his worst times.

As embarrassing as it was, he would have to ask Ian after he made himself presentable again.

He washed himself, trying to get rid of the sickness, the headache, and the eerie feeling.

Afterwards, he felt a bit better.

He slowly, systematically got dressed. 

When he took his trousers from the chair, he froze. There was a set of woman’s clothes underneath them.

Lissy’s. 


	12. Thursday, 12:25 p.m., Gunn Arms, Berriedale {Randall}

“Ian, what happened yesterday evening?“

He finally had convinced himself that he had no other option than leaving the guest room, go downstairs to the pub and face the truth.

After two cups of tea his stomach wasn’t as upset anymore, and he found the courage to ask Ian.

“Ah, well, it’s seldom I see a lad who isn’t able to walk properly after just five vodka.”

“Vodka?” Randall stared at him in horror.

“Sure. Couldn’t very well let you raise your glass in a toast to the woman you love with just juice, right?”

Ian grinned like a Cheshire cat.

Well, that explained the weird taste of the juice and the coke. And the hangover. He wondered why he hadn’t realized it. The taste of alcohol wasn’t an easy one to miss, especially not for a former drunkard. He blamed the confused state of his mind and him being sleep-deprived and exhausted after the long drive.

He felt a slight anger towards Ian for the betrayal, but the guilt was stronger. He should have realized it. Ian had not meant to cause any harm. For Ian’s standards three – or… five? – vodka was next to nothing. Something else was more important.

“Ian, the stew was the only food in my stomach, and I haven’t had a drink in years, so five vodka for me do basically what three bottles of whisky would do to you. I can’t remember anything after the – I take it, the first – coke. What has happened afterwards?”

“Ah, well you had a good time, lad! Which is appropriate for someone who is getting married. Last chance to sow your wild oats, especially as you are not _that_ young anymore, eh?” 

Ian winked at him. He cringed at the implications. Nevertheless, he had to know exactly.

“Ian, I have to know _exactly_ what I did!”

“Oh, well, a few of the lads came over and we raised our glasses to you and your future wife. Peter brought his guitar along and so we sang some of the old classics, ‘Mairi’s Wedding’, ‘Wild Mountain Thyme’, ‘Seven Drunken Nights’, and some other I do not remember now. You got a beautiful voice, Randall. You should do that more often. Never heard you sing before.”

Figures, he never had been drunk when he had been here. Usually, he just enjoyed the atmosphere, seeing others get drunk and sing. He couldn’t sing and he knew it, so he never did. But he sensed that this wasn’t the end of the story.

“Sooo… I sang. What happened then?”

“Oh, well… you danced.”

He groaned silently. He couldn’t dance. Not if his life depended on it. He didn’t want to know the details of that.

“Okay, skip that… I don’t want to know it. What happened then?”

“Ah, well, the dancing didn’t work so well after the fifth vodka…”

“I’m surprised it worked well before that.”

“Oh, Lissy is an excellent dancer, she made sure you found the right places to put your feet to without hurting her or anyone else.”

He took a deep breath.

“Okay, I get it, what happened then?”

He ended upstairs, naked in bed, and while he could imagine how, he needed to know.

“Oh, Randall, upstairs is Lissy’s district. As long as the rooms are tidy and clean afterwards, I never ask any questions.”

“So, I went upstairs with Lissy?”

“Well… you couldn’t walk properly anymore so someone had to guide you anyway. But yes, Lissy went upstairs with you.”

He took another deep breath.

“And came down again?”

“Not before this morning around eight.”

Ian grinned and wiggled his eyebrows. Randall’s heart sank. His worst assumption had proven true. He would never forgive himself for betraying Lix. And he was absolutely sure she would never forgive him, either. He closed his eyes and willed back the urge to shout at Ian. He just needed to get out of this place.

“Do you have gathered the things that were on my list yesterday?”

“Sure.”

Ian reached beneath the counter and handed him two bags. Then he handed him the bill. Randall read it meticulously, going from one item to the other.

“Apparently, I paid a few rounds?”

“Sure. You were eager to do it.”

He couldn’t picture himself shouting ‘it’s my round!’ but apparently, he had done just that. A few times. He kept checking the bill.

“I’m missing the rent for the room,” he said quietly.

“Please, you were my guest. The least I can do for a man about to lose his freedom.”

Ian grinned, slammed his big hands on Randall’s shoulders, shaking him in a way that made him sick again.

He quickly reached for his purse, paid the bill, and escaped the place that saw the crushing defeat of Randall Brown, miserable human being, and worst fiancé in the world.


	13. Thursday, 12:45 p.m., Gunn Arms, Berriedale {Lix}

She was dead tired when the cab stopped in front of the only pub/shop/post office in Berriedale.

Yes, she had _seen_ how far North it was. Yes, she had calculated both the time Randall had needed to come here by car, and the time she needed with the sleeper to Inverness, the train to Helmsdale and the taxi to Berriedale, but still, she had underestimated how long it would _feel_ like.

She paid the driver. She still doubted that this was an official taxi service. It seemed more like the nephew of the station master of Helmsdale offered all kinds of services, among which was giving strangers a lift who looked too tired to walk. But the thin, tall, red-haired driver wasn't too fond of talking, and all her attempts to start a conversation had stalled after a few words. Without a word, he handed her her small suitcase, tipped his flat cap, and was on his way back to Helmsdale. 

The Gunn Arms looked exactly like Lix had imagined the only pub in a godforsaken town at the end of the world would look like. A very small, sturdy version of a castle, erected to defy the wind and the cold, not so much to welcome a random stranger. But as long as it provided a bed and the chance to chat with locals, it would serve as a perfect headquarter for her investigation. 

She went inside and was immediately greeted by a big friendly man behind the counter.

“Hello, young lady, how can I help you?”

Lix had not done any preparations for this trip. She just counted on her luck that there would be rooms available around this time of year and in this part of Scotland.

“Good afternoon! I would like to stay for a couple of days in your beautiful area. Do you have a single room for me?”

The man rubbed his hands.

“I have always a room for a beautiful lady, Miss! Hi, I’m Ian Gunn, innkeeper, bartender, shop-owner, postmaster and jack-of-all-trades of Berriedale.”

He bowed his head slightly.

“Delighted to meet you, Mr. Gunn, My name is Storm. Mrs. Storm.”

She was always cautious around men, especially as it was unusual for a woman to travel alone. Men often saw it as an invitation to prey on her.

“My pleasure, Mrs. Storm. You travel alone?”

“Only for a few days.”

She didn’t say more. She didn’t want to invent a complicated cover story and get caught in it. And she was too tired for small talk. They called it “sleeper cars” but she never understood how anyone could sleep in them. She would need a nap after she had something to eat. And to drink.

“Very well, then, Mrs. Storm,” Ian shrugged, “I will show you your room, then. Oh, I will need at least the pay for one night in advance, but we can do that once you made yourself comfortable. You look a bit exhausted. And there’s always stew on my cooker, in case you want to eat something.”

Lix nodded her thanks. Ian grabbed a key and the suitcase and signed Lix to follow him upstairs. They entered the second room. It was tidy and had a big double bed. She must have looked a bit surprised because Ian immediately felt the urge to tell her.

“All our rooms have double beds. Makes all sorts of things much simpler. The prices are the same, anyway. Now, have a pleasant stay and come down once you feel like it, okay? Stew’s on the house, you look like you are starving!”

Ian grinned like a Cheshire cat and left her alone.

Lix took a look at herself in the mirror. He was right, she looked exhausted and, for some weird reason, hungry. She had skipped breakfast but that wasn’t unusual for her. Maybe it was the salty air of the North that made her look hungry.

Or the worrying about Randall.

Randall.

She needed to find out where he was and how he was doing.

Well, this pub was certainly a good starting point. She was sure this was the information hub of the whole area. It was a bit early in the day to hope for any locals to drop by. So, maybe she now had a stew and a drink, nap for a bit and then go down in the evening again to see if she could get some information.

Experience told her that asking directly would only make the locals suspicious about her intentions. More often than not it was more advisable to just sit there and follow the conversation. A stranger in a scarcely populated area was for sure something someone would talk about sooner or later.

That was her plan for now.

She changed into a set of new clothes and went downstairs.


	14. Thursday, 3:45 p.m., unnamed cliff outside Berriedale {Randall}

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Trigger warning: suicidal thoughts / intrusive thoughts**  
>  You might want to avoid this chapter if you are sensitive to suicidal thoughts or feel uncomfortable in great heights. The upcoming chapters will refer to this one but you can piece together what happened from what happens in them.
> 
> Always remember that our brains are bastards at times and can't be trusted completely.

He stood on the cliff, looking out to the ocean.

He still didn’t understand what happened yesterday.

Yes, he did understand what happened when it came to the facts. He wasn’t used to alcohol anymore. He knew that during the long time of abstinence his body had developed a hypersensitivity against it. He just needed one glass to be completely drunk. He had that once in Paris and it had been such an unpleasant experience, he had no intention to ever try that again.

But at least in Paris, he knew what had happened.

This time he had a complete blackout. He had no idea what happened in the late evening and the night. He had to take Ian’s word for it.

Only that Ian was anything but a reliable source. He liked exaggerating things, making them sound more dramatic or funny than they were. He knew that. And he really, really hoped that this would be true in this case.

He just refused to believe he had betrayed Lix.

But then again, he couldn’t be sure. His drunk self was a completely different man. If he sang and danced in public, something he wouldn’t do under any circumstances when he was sober, there was no guarantee that he wouldn’t…

He took a step closer to the end of the cliff, looking over the edge.

Not as high as the cliffs on the West coast, yet, high enough.

It reminded him why he came here.

He had lost control over his life.

He had lost his daughter.

He would probably lose Freddie because he had failed to protect him.

Lix…

He had destroyed Lix’s life.

If he hadn’t left her and the child, both would be alive and well.

If he had never set foot in Lix’s life who knows how happy it would have been?

Yes, she had agreed to marry him, but was this what she really wanted?

Or did she do it out of pity?

Lix!

He closed his eyes and took another step forward.

He opened them again and looked down.

Perfect!

Here, on the edge of the cliff, he was in control again.

He could take another step forward and he would fall.

He would fall and he would shatter himself on the rocks below.

He would fall into the arms of his old friend.

Death.

No more pain.

No more sorrow.

No more making other people unhappy.

Or he could turn around and walk back.

Resume his life.

Pain.

Sorrow.

Disappointing people.

Destroying people’s lives.

He opened his arms, looking up to the sky.

It was his decision.

Here, on the edge of the cliff, far away from everybody else,

he,

_Randall Brown_

**_was_ _in control again_.**


	15. Thursday, 1:15 p.m., Gunn Arms, Berriedale {Lix}

She tasted the stew. It was exactly right. She hadn’t had a good stew in ages, and only now she realized how much she had missed it.

“Very good,” she smiled, nodding in Ian’s direction.

Ian burst into a broad grin.

“Glad you like it, Miss… Mrs. Storm! Do you want anything to drink with it?”

“A glass of water and a whisky would be perfect,” she heard herself say. She had promised herself not to drink anything on that trip. Maybe even stay sober forever. But the exhaustion and the worrying had claimed the better of her.

“Ah, that’s a fine lass,” Ian grinned, “you are one of us. Not like good old Randall, right, Lissy?”

Lix froze at the mention of  _his_ name. The woman he had addressed was cleaning the tables nearby. She was tall and sturdy with beautiful chestnut hair. The woman now paused, crossed her arms and frowned at Ian.

“Ian Gunn, you bloody son of a half-insane donkey, you shouldn’t have done that to him! You know he doesn’t drink.”

Lix brain was working high-speed. The good news was she really had come to the right place and got a trace of Randall sooner than she expected. The bad news was that it sounded like something unpleasant had happened to him. Something that involved alcohol. She needed to find out what, without being too obviously interested.

Ian set a glass of water and another glass with a generous amount of whisky in front of her.

“Shesh, Lissy, dear! Only five drinks. That’s barely a smidgeon for a man his size!”

Lix heart sank. Five drinks! Randall had told her he had become extremely sensitive to even small amounts of alcohol since he stopped drinking. She didn’t want to know what five whole drinks would have done to him. Well, she  _did_ want to know, but she dreaded to find out.

She took a big swig of whisky and kept following the conversation.

“Who would have known that it would make him _that_ tipsy? And besides, he was still man enough to follow you upstairs, right?”

“Oh, shut up, Ian! You were born an idiot, learned nothing, and forgot half of it!”

The woman – Lissy – huffed.

Lix, for her part, emptied her glass at the shock. Her imagination started running wild, seeing Randall upstairs with the woman.

She tried to will back her anger and just waved her glass at Ian, demanding another drink.

“Bring the lass a new drink, will you, Lissy? And while you are at it, do the formalities for me, okay? I have to bring Mrs. McPherson her delivery.”

Ian obviously didn’t want to deepen this discussion with Lissy in front of his guest, and disappeared through the back door.

Lissy brought the guest book, a bill, and a bottle of whisky.

Lix signed the book, paid the advance for the room, and added a tip. Lissy filled her glass.

 _Clynelish_ , Lix noted. She could have guessed so. Locals drank local.

Lissy took the money and the guest book. She froze when she read the name.

“Lix Storm?”

The two women interlocked eyes.

“Lix Storm from London? _Radall’s_ Lix, by any chance?”

She had never been addressed as being in the ownership of Randall, but it sounded strangely appropriate.

Lix narrowed her eyes and nodded.

“Yes, _Randall’s Lix_ if we are talking about the same Randall. Randall Brown. About 6 feet tall, grey-haired, thick glasses, usually neat as a pin, and strictly _not drinking_.”

Lissy’s face burst into a broad smile.

“Yeah, that’s him. Delighted to meet you, I have heard so many things about you!”

“I wish I could say the same about you, Mrs…”

“Elisabeth Lymont, Lissy for my friends.”

“Not convinced we are _friends_ , Mrs. Lymont. I take it you landed in bed with Randall last night, and I’m not exactly thrilled about that!” 

To her surprise, Lissy burst into laughter.

“I don’t think you have to worry about that, Lix.”

Lix had difficulties to contain her anger. She forced herself to remain calm when she replied:

“ _Miss Storm_ for you. And now I want to know _exactly_ what happened last night, _Mrs. Lymont_!”


	16. Thursday, 1:30 p.m., Gunn Arms, Berriedale {Lix}

“I want to know _exactly_ what happened last night, _Mrs. Lymont_!”

Lix's voice was steady, but she was not able to conceal her anger. In front of her stood the woman who apparently had spent last night with Randall. She still couldn’t believe it. Yet, it was the conclusion she had drawn from the conversation between the innkeeper and this woman. And the woman, Mrs. Lymont, hadn’t denied it. On the contrary. She had laughed about it.

“Would you believe me if I tell you the truth?”

Lissy was calm and Lix had to admit she seemed genuinely interested. It was a good question, she had to grant her that.

“How am I about to know?” Lix huffed. “Give it a try, so we can find out.”

Lissy sat down, folded her hands and rested her chin on them.

“Miss Storm, I’m rather sure you don’t _want_ to believe me when I tell you that _nothing_ happened. I know, I probably wouldn’t believe me, either. But it is the truth. Last night… when I realized what Ian did… that he mixed alcohol into Randall’s drinks the first thing I did was stopping him from doing it. Not by telling him. For Ian, alcohol is such an integral part of Scottish culture that he would have found a way to keep doing it. And I had no intention to get into a discussion with a whole pub filled with locals who think exactly the same.”

Lissy looked at Lix, and Lix had to admit she had a point.

“So, instead of arguing, I just exchanged the drinks Ian prepared against ordinary coke. It was easy enough to do as I was serving drinks, anyway. But Randall… with his empty stomach and in his exhausted state had already enough to get him drunk, anyway. Drunk as in: seriously pissed.”

Lix nodded slowly that she understood and Lissy should continue her story.

“The only thing I could do was shielding him from getting into more trouble. I think he had a great time in a way. He sang, he danced, and throughout the evening he told everybody what a gem you are. Believe me, I have been to a lot of weddings, and stag nights, for that matter, but I can’t recall anybody who would have praised the woman he loved in such an endearing manner. You are the best thing that ever happened to him, I really believe that.”

Lissy smiled at her. Lix felt anger welling up.

“Still, you ended upstairs in _bed_!”

“Yes, we did.”

Lissy said, plain and simple.

“Although you _knew_ that he was engaged, and you were apparently not as drunk as he was!”

Lix couldn’t contain her anger any longer.

“You whore!”

She shouted, jumped up and slapped Lissy right across her face. Well, she tried to, but missed. Lissy had seen her fair share of enraged wives and fiancées and so she had dug away in exactly the right moment for Lix to miss and nearly lose her balance.

“Miss Storm,” Lissy said calmly, as if nothing had happened, “just hear me out.”

Lix stared at her, enraged and confused.

“Miss Storm, he was a recovering alcoholic who had been intoxicated again. He was in an extremely exhausted and dehydrated state when he came to the pub. He hadn’t eaten anything for hours, safe for a few spoons of stew. He was seriously drunk. He wouldn’t have been in a state to do _anything_. But he was in a state I was seriously worried he could hurt himself accidentally. So, I kept the watch. I undressed him because he made a mess of it when he tried to do it himself. I made sure he rested on his side, not on his back. I made sure he drank some water when he was conscious. I helped him when he got sick. And I stayed up all night, making sure he would again come to rest on his side if he turned around in his sleep. Which he did. Frequently. I only left in the morning when I was sure there was no immediate danger anymore, that the worst was over, and he slept rather peacefully.”

Lix stared at Lissy as she slowly tried to process the information. She emptied her glass, still unable to say or think anything.

“Miss Storm,” Lissy continued, “Randall was _drunk_. But drinking will only enforce the personality traits that are already there. Someone who has difficulties to control his anger when he is sober will become enraged and violent when he is drunk. Someone who is repressed might lose some of his inhibitions, he might become more confident to do certain things. Yet, he won’t do anything he would not have thought about when he was sober. And Randall…”

Lissy gave Lix her kindest smile.

“…Lix, he is attractive, and I can’t guarantee you that I would have refused if he had tried anything… But he loves you, Lix. I think he always loved you. And now that you agreed to marry him, now that he can have _you_ , I think no other woman in this world would even manage to seduce him. I just made sure that he would survive Ian’s stupid joke. I’m his friend, we are all his friends up here, although the way we express friendship might be a wee different from where you come from. But he is our friend and his wellbeing matters to us.”

Realization hit Lix hard. Instead of what she had pictured in her mind, this woman had been there for Randall. She had watched over him and had done everything to keep him safe.

Her anger was replaced with a feeling of guilt and gratefulness.

“Do you believe me?” Lissy asked.

“Miss Lymont… I… I feel stupid, now. I… I don’t know what to say…”

“It’s alright, Miss Storm. We all do stupid things if we love someone. I know that. Probably better than most people in this place.” Lissy smiled her kind, warm smile.

“Still, I’m sorry for what I said to you, and that I tried to slap you. Some journalist I am. I should have first listened to what you had to say.”

“Don't mention it. I don’t know if I would have done so if I had been in your shoes. But now, Miss Storm…”

“Lix.”

“Fine, then, Lix,” Lissy said, smiling from her lips to her eyes to the wrinkles on her forehead, “there is a man who has closed himself off of the world, imprisoned himself in his little cottage up the hill. He might be inside, or he might be wandering aimlessly along the shoreline, torturing himself, beating himself up, feeling guilty for nothing. He came up here because his soul needed mending. Yet, he got into even more trouble and that’s Ian’s fault. I’m rather sure Ian didn’t tell him that nothing happened. It would fit Ian’s sense of humor if he did exactly the opposite.”

Lissy now grabbed her arm with a certain kind of urgency. 

“So, Randall, _your_ Randall, Lix, he needs _you_ now, more than anything else. Go, now. Go out there and find him.” 


	17. Thursday, 3:45 p.m., unnamed beach outside Berriedale {Lix}

Randall hadn’t been in the cottage. It had been locked.

Lissy had shown Lix all of Randall’s favorite places – at least the ones she knew of – on the map but so far, she hadn’t found him. She now took the path down to the shoreline, trying her luck there. But there was no one to be seen. 

Undecided, she strolled along the beach. She looked up to the cliffs towering over the sea, and suddenly, her heart stood still.

There, high above the shoreline, on the edge of the cliff, she spotted a silhouette she would have recognized everywhere.

Randall.

He stood so close to the edge.

Just one small step forward and he would fall, down to where the waves were clashing to a couple of pointy rocks. 

She wanted to shout but kept herself from doing it. He stood so close to the abyss that just a small stumbling, perhaps because he was startled, perhaps just to wave back at her, would send him over the edge.

Instead, she just stood and stared in horror.

He stood upright, staring down to the waves. 

Then, he opened his arms, looking up to the sky.

Lix held her breath, her heart leapt into her throat.

There was nothing she could do.

If he let himself fall forward, the only thing she could do was watching him fall.

It was about a minute he just stood there this way, arms stretched out, staring to the sky.

Then he let his arms fall to his sides, straightened his back, turned around, and slowly walked away from the edge, into the direction of the cottage.

Lix exhaled, her heart still beating at maximum speed.

She turned around and headed up the path that led back to the road. 

In the distance, she saw Randall crossing the road, taking the gravel road up to the cottage. 

She followed him.

She saw him closing the door behind him, not looking into her direction.

It was still about half a mile to walk uphill until she reached the small cottage.

Then, she finally stood in front of the door.

She had no idea what she should say, or how she should explain why she was here. And, of course, she had also no idea how she should address what she had just witnessed. 

But she needed to make sure he was okay.

Or, better, she needed to be there because he was obviously not okay.

She knocked.


	18. Thursday, 4:15 p.m., Randall's cottage near Berriedale {Randall}

Randall had made himself comfortable on his bed. He lay there, stretched out, fully clothed. He had no intention to get undressed anytime, soon. Maybe he would go to the shoreline later on.

Somebody was knocking at the door.

He didn’t want to answer it.

No matter who it was, he wanted to be alone.

He would just pretend nobody was there.

Another knock.

Who could it be?

Ian? He didn’t want to see  _that_ face, anytime, soon.

Lissy? He was not sure he would be able to face her, either.

He kept silent, hoping that whoever it was would just go away.

The knocking became frantically.

Unusual for one of the locals. They usually kept their calm no matter what. And no one would need to talk to him desperately. He might have become a friend over the years, but he had nothing important to contribute to the community.

“Randall, I know you are inside, please, just open the door for me!”

Lix!

He was instantly up, and with a few quick leaps he was at the door.

How had she found him?

He grabbed the handle, his heart racing. For a short moment he contemplated not to open the door, because he didn’t know what to tell her. About fleeing from London. About coming up here. About what had happened yesterday. About everything.

But then, he decided that it didn’t matter.

Lix was here!

He opened the door and as always, he marveled how beautiful she was and how he always forgot  _exactly_ _how_ beautiful.

“Lix!”

He uttered, still surprised, standing awkwardly in his own door frame. He wasn’t prepared to have her here. It didn’t fit into his world at the moment. He was so glad she was here, yet, it confused him so much. He searched for words and didn’t find more than the bare minimum.

“What are you doing here?”

“Making sure you are okay.”

“Don’t worry about me, Lix. I am okay.”

She looked straight into his eyes. Now he saw that they were wet. She was close to crying.

“Well, honestly, standing on the edge of a cliff doesn’t really look _okay_ to me, Randall!”

There it was. The conversation he was afraid of having. He hadn’t expected her to catch him doing it. He hadn’t expected her to search for him in the first place, let alone finding him and seeing what he did.

He didn’t know what he should say. He wasn’t prepared to tell her. He needed to word it  _exactly right._ He couldn’t do that now. His mind was still a mess. And it got worse by seeing her standing at his doorstep, remnants of recent horrors in her eyes, close to tears, looking at him, obviously deeply worried. 

_Worried about him._

She shouldn’t worry about him.

He was okay.

Well, not really okay, but not in the state she suspected him to be. Yet, it was too difficult to explain with a mind that was not ready, that was still recovering, still struggling regaining control. She needed to know, and if he couldn’t put it in words right now, maybe he should tell her exactly that?

“You are both right and wrong, Lix. It… it is… complicated. I think we need to talk about it. But… right now, I can’t…”

She looked at him, as if she was searching for something in his eyes. Then, she nodded.

“It’s okay, Randall. No need to talk right now. I just hold you for a bit.”

She stepped forward and wrapped him in her arms. It was all he needed. He closed his arms around her. Feeling her strong shoulder under his grip anchored him, told him this was real, that it was true. That Lix,  _his_ Lix, had come all the way up from London looking for him, making sure he was alright. He rested his head against her head. 

Just feeling her warmth, both against his body and inside his heart.


	19. Thursday, 4:20 p.m., Randall's cottage near Berriedale {Lix}

She held him, tight. She knew a lot of the things that troubled him because they troubled her, too.

Sofia.

Freddie.

All the other terrible things going on in the world.

However, Randall had never seemed suicidal to her. Yet, she had seen him, standing on the edge of the cliff. They would need to talk about it. But for the moment she just held him tight, wishing to protect him from all the bad things out there, shielding him from all his troubles.

For a long while, neither of them wanted to let go. But finally, her pragmatic senses took over.

“Randall, dear…” she said softly, stroking the back of his head, “I think we should perhaps go inside. Those old cottages are a nuisance to heat up, anyway, and you don’t want to lose all the warmth you have inside.”

He reluctantly let her go, smiled sheepishly, and brushed a tear from her eye. She hadn’t even realized it was there.

“Lix, Lix, _my_ Lix, always the practical type,” he said hoarsely. “Come inside, it’s just not much convenience I can offer, I didn’t expect to have guests.”

Lix thought that it was probably the tidiest country cottage she had ever seen. Even at the end of the world, in the simplest two-room-building, Randall Brown managed to keep everything tidy and neatly arranged.

“It looks very comfortable,” she said, and she meant it. It radiated the same welcoming warmth as Randall’s flat in London.

“Please, take a seat, I fear there aren't many options...” he gesticulated to the sofa next to the fireplace, which was, except for an armchair near the bookshelf and a small table with two chairs next to the window, the only place to sit down in this house.

“Unfortunately, the only drink I can offer you is tea. Do you like some tea?”

Lix nodded, and Randall went to the kitchen corner. He came back, setting two cups, sugar, and milk neatly on the small side table. It only took him two attempts to have everything arranged accurately enough to be satisfied.

He opened the door of the cast-iron stove that sat in the originally open fireplace and put in a new peat brick. Then he took the teapot from the top of the oven.

“I had this oven installed a few years ago, because this type heats the room more efficiently. And it's a bit tidier. That the teapot has a place where it is kept warm is also very convenient. I know that an open fireplace would be more romantic,” he said, looking and sounding apologetic while he poured the tea.

Everything about this flat and everything he did was somehow typically Randall. But the way he apologized for every little thing... She watched him putting the teapot back. He was tense. It almost seemed as if he not only apologized for the meagerness of his cottage and how unprepared he was for welcoming a guest... it was almost as if he felt sorry for existing.

“Randall, come here,” she patted next to her side on the sofa because he didn’t seem to understand.

Randall obeyed and sat down. She cupped his cheek with her hand, gently stroking it with her thumb.

“Stop apologizing. It is a beautiful place and very romantic. Now, don’t you want to welcome me in your house, properly?”

He looked a bit confused until he realized what she meant. He carefully wrapped her in his arms as if she were something fragile, something he was afraid of breaking, something he didn't deserve touching, and kissed her. Cautiously at first, but then passionately, as if they hadn’t seen each other for years.


	20. Thursday, 4:35 p.m., Randall's cottage near Berriedale {Randall}

When he felt Lix’s hand crawl underneath his shirt he was reminded that this wasn’t just the happy reunion of two lovers who had been apart for two days. Was it really just two days? It seemed like an eternity to him. And yet, here she was, in his arms, kissing him as if really an eternity had passed since they last saw each other.

But it reminded him. It reminded him that he was, indeed, a man with a very guilty conscience. Lix deserved the world. And especially, she deserved that he was honest with her. There were things they needed to talk about but had time until later. But not  _this_ .

He had to tell her what happened last night,  _now_ .

He caught her hand and retreated slightly, enough to look into her eyes.

“Lix, I need to tell you something…”

He straightened his back, exhaled and tried to gather his thoughts.

“Lix, I was drunk yesterday.”

It still sounded unbelievable to him. Even more unbelievable now that he had heard himself say it out loud. But the slight throbbing in his head was still there, although various cups of tea and the crisp, salty air from the sea had driven nearly all other unpleasant symptoms of the hangover out of his body.

Lix said nothing. She just looked into his eyes as if she tried to see inside, deep into the valleys of his dark soul.

“As unbelievable as it may sound, it wasn’t my decision. A friend of mine thought nothing about it when he mixed vodka into my juice. He’s Scottish… I think he can’t imagine that a man doesn’t drink. I didn’t realize it, and so, I got drunk.”

Lix still said nothing, her eyes resting on him, searching him, studying him, as if he was a pile of papers and she was trying to find a specific information in it.

“Lix, I can’t remember much of last evening. Only blurry images and they don’t make much sense to me. But the facts are: I woke up about noon today in one of the guest rooms of the Gunn Arms in Berriedale. And: apparently, I went there with the local prostitute, who didn’t leave until morning.”

There it was. Out in the open. He held his breath and braced himself for the impact of his words. He waited for Lix to shout at him, slap him, maybe storming off in a rage. It did take much to make Lix Storm lose her calm but if she did, she wasn’t a  _storm,_ she was a  _hurricane_ .

The hurricane never came. Instead she made a noise he couldn’t place. When he looked closer, the corners of her mouth were twitching and… she…  _giggled._

Somehow it did both – it relieved him, yet, it hurt him more than a slap.

It always hurt him when people didn’t take him seriously and especially, if  _Lix_ didn’t take him seriously. And her reaction confused him. Unfortunately, there was nothing in the vicinity to deal with the pressure this confusion caused, and so, he tipped three times to his temples, then took down his glasses, turned them around so they faced him, and checked them for specks.

“I don’t know what’s so funny about that,” he told his glasses.

Lix carefully took his glasses out of his hands and placed them on the table. Then, she took both his hands in her hands.

“Randall, dear, I know from the most reliable source that exactly _nothing_ happened last night.”

This answer confused him even more.

“Which... source?”

“Lissy Lymont.”

It felt like a punch in the stomach. He blushed. This whole confession had been difficult and embarrassing enough. But that Lix actually spoke to Lissy… Lissy, who knew him well, Lissy, who could reveal a lot of embarrassing things… things he wanted to tell Lix, but tell her at his own pace and  _exactly_ like he wanted to tell them… 

“Not many people would think of Lissy as a reliable source,” he mumbled and was sure his ears were red like a lobster.

“In this case, I think she is the most reliable source in this county. And, if I take my second source, it becomes so reliable I would nearly tend to take it as a fact.”

“Your second source?”

Now, he was completely confused.

“You, Randall,” Lix sighed, “you were never able to lie to me. I sense it when you lie to me, you realize that I sense it, you start fidgeting like a maniac, then you tell me the truth. That’s why you didn’t tell me you were leaving London. I wouldn’t have bought whatever cover story you made up. And that’s how I know that you really don’t know what happened last night. If you tell me that you went to a room with a prostitute but have _no idea what happened next_ , it sounds like the stupidest cover story, ever.” 

Lix giggled again and shook her head, amused. He blushed even deeper.

“Randall, we are both journalists and we both know how difficult it is to tell the false information from the truth. And the reason is that most deliberately created rumors and fake stories are very carefully crafted, clever thought of and enriched with enough facts, so that even the most blatant lie becomes believable. Now, if the local prostitute tells me she went with you to your room and – mind me, although she thinks you are attractive – did nothing else than staying by your side, making sure you wouldn’t throw up in your sleep… and you tell me you have no idea what happened that night…” she again shook her head in amusement, “…I said it before and I say it again, it sounds like the most stupid lie ever, but I am absolutely convinced that it is the truth.”

He was not sure how he felt about this revelation. Of course, he was very happy that he hadn’t betrayed Lix when he had not been himself. But still, even now that he knew what happened… it was deeply disturbing. He needed fresh air in his lungs to allow his brain to process what had happened.

He looked at Lix.

Would she understand?

He looked at their hands, holding each other.

If this should work out, she needed to understand how and what he was.

What he needed to do to come to terms with himself.

What he needed to do to cope.

“Lix, I… need to go outside for a bit.”

She frowned but nodded.

He got up, put his glasses back on, and took his coat.

“Would you… _mind_ if I come with you?”

He heard her voice behind his back.

He thought about it.

Usually, he went up to the mountains or roamed the shoreline like a lone wolf. An outcast of society. A stranger to this world. Whenever he turned around there had always been just one single set of footprints leading up his path. There never had been someone else’s beside his own.

Just now, he wondered if it had to be this way.

In the course of just two days, he had found that he was important enough to two people that they did, in fact, not leave his side when he needed them. Lissy had literally watched his back when he was not able to do it himself. And Lix…  _his_ Lix came looking for him when he went missing.

It created a mess of emotions inside. He couldn’t talk about it. Yet, he knew what he wanted. He knew  _exactly_ what he wanted. More than anything else.

He took Lix’s coat from the hanger near the door and held it out for her. Instantly she got up and he helped her in. He went to the stove and set a brick of peat smoldering, to preserve the warmth. He took a look at the two half-empty teacups.

He took a long, hard stare at them.

No, he tried to convince himself.

It was okay.

Nothing bad would happen if they stayed that way.

Lix went back and brought them to the kitchen corner.

Out of his sight.

When she came back, he took her hand firmly into his.

Hand in hand they left the cottage and started for the shore.


	21. Thursday, 5:00 p.m., unnamed beach outside Berriedale {Lix}

They walked along the shoreline. The beach was very small and more gravel and stones than sand, but it still was a beautiful walk.

Randall hadn’t said a word since they left the cottage. And Lix didn’t say anything so she wouldn’t disturb his thoughts. She wouldn’t go as far as saying she had figured him out, but she knew him well enough to know that if he didn’t say anything, he simply hadn’t found a way to say it  _exactly right._

He could do small talk when forced to do it but when given the opportunity, Randall would remain silent until he knew what he wanted to say and how he wanted to say it. It was one of the most disturbing and endearing facts about the man she loved: if Randall Brown opened his mouth, most of the time his words would bear  _meaning_ .

They reached the point of the shore where the cliff Randall had stood earlier on became visible. Involuntarily, Lix stopped walking, which startled Randall out of his thoughts. His eyes followed hers.

He sighed.

”It wasn’t like it looked like.”

“It looked like you were about to shatter yourself on the foot of that cliff, Randall.”

She recalled the horror of seeing him standing there.

“I wasn’t, don’t worry, Lix.”

He now faced her, and gently let his hand rest on her cheek.

“I would never do that.”

He thoughtfully let his thumb run over her cheek.

“I would _never_ do what my mother did. Especially, I wouldn’t do that to _you_.”

It hit her hard. He had never talked about his family, safe from mentioning his father briefly, every now and then. Looking into his eyes she saw the pain and the grief inside. A grief he hadn’t spoken about so far. Not to her, and she suspected not to anyone.

Usually, she knew how to handle Randall. But right now, she was at a loss how to deal with this reveal. Should she ask him about it, showing she was ready to share the burden? Should she remain silent, giving him the opportunity to decide how far he would let her in on his grief?

She did what her heart told her.

She let go of his hand and wrapped her arms around his middle.

“I’m so sorry, Randall. I had no idea.”

He closed the hug and rested his head against hers.

“Randall, whatever you like to tell me, whenever you like to tell me, you know I will always listen, right? That nothing is too terrible, too disturbing, or too frightening to tell me? You know that I’m always here for you, no matter what?”

She felt him nod.

For a long while, they just held each other tight.

“I like to tell you so many things, Lix, so many things. But I don’t know how and where to start,” his voice sounded hoarse.

“That’s okay, Randall. Just start anywhere. Or wait until you feel you have put the words in the right order. Whatever it is that helps you most.”

She felt him nod again. He cleared his throat.

“The sun sets early here because of the mountains in the West. Let’s walk back, maybe on top of the hill near the cottage. We might still catch a glimpse, and the light is nearly magical there.”

He let go of her enough to look into her eyes. His eyes were slightly reddened.

“What do you think, Lix?”

“It sounds wonderful, Randall,” she said quietly and gently brushed a tear from the corner of his eye.


	22. Thursday, 6:15 p.m., unnamed hill outside Berriedale {Randall}

As they walked up the dirt track behind the cottage the evening light painted the mountains and the meadows golden.

“I love the autumn light,” Lix said when they reached the top of the hill and looked out to the mountains towering in the West and the ocean stretching out until the horizon in the East.

She hadn’t said much, neither on the beach, nor while walking up here and he was thankful for it as it created space for him to  _think_ while having her near. There was so much he wanted to tell her and now she was here with him, he felt stupid for not having asked her to come with him in the first place.

London was too crowded, too loud, too distracting. He doubted that he would have ever been able to structure all the emotions and all the confusing thoughts in a way he could tell her properly there.

Up here, the calmness of the life and the roughness of the landscape put his mind at ease. At least enough to really  _think_ , to  _draw connections_ , to  _understand_ how one piece of his weird self connected to other parts of his weird self and how, if he looked close enough, the pieces clicked and formed a bigger picture. 

Only when he saw the bigger picture, he was able to tell somebody else about it. Only if he himself  _understood_ what happened he could tell somebody. Well, he wouldn’t tell anybody, but he wanted to tell Lix. 

He wanted to tell her everything.

About the deep wounds in his soul that wouldn’t heal because they were too deep, because they festered, because whenever there was a thin layer of scurf on them he would be forced to think about what caused them and they would start bleeding again.

Lix had to know.

She had a right to know.

Before they would marry, she had to know just how broken he was. That what she saw on the outside, his quirks, his mannerisms, his tics, were just the tip of the iceberg. That below the surface there were just shattered pieces of himself. Pieces he held together to form a Randall Brown on the outside by being in control of all the small details around him.

He wasn’t naïve, he was not expecting her to fix him.

He was broken beyond repair.

He wasn’t able to fix himself and no one else would be able to do that.

But she needed to  _understand_ what she was dealing with.

To avoid cutting herself on the pieces inside.

And maybe if he was really, really lucky, she would be able to understand  _him_ .

When she mentioned the autumn light, he was drawn from his thoughts back to reality. He noticed the golden light on the mountains and the meadows, on the small, crooked pines and the patches of heather.

He turned to face Lix and saw the golden light and the mild breeze from the sea playing with her beautiful brown hair. He knew that she dyed it because it started turning grey. He couldn’t help thinking that she would look even more beautiful if the golden light were given the opportunity to play with strands of silver. 

However, right now, in the evening light, standing on the top of this small hill, she looked like a goddess from the ancient sagas of the North. Strong and powerful. Yet, this goddess,  _his_ goddess, was also smart and understanding. And tender. He doubted that the ancient sagas had filled this specific position in their pantheon. She was created much later and specifically for him.

He stepped closer to her and took her chin in his hands.

“I love the autumn light, too. Especially if it underlines your beauty. But not as much as I love you, Lix Storm.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. He simply kissed her. The way she answered his kiss was enough for him to know that, as unbelievable as it still was to him, she loved him too.

It was a love story as old as the ancient sagas. Even older. As old as the mountains and the sea. Yet, like every love story, it was different and new for the two people involved.


	23. Thursday, 7:30 p.m., Randall’s cottage near Berriedale {Randall}

After Randall got the fire burning in the stove again, he went to the kitchen corner to prepare a new pot of tea and some snacks. Lix was on the sofa in front of the fireplace, and he hoped it was comfortable enough for her. He couldn’t provide much luxury up here. He never invited guests and so, all this little safe haven on the hill was equipped for was satisfying  _his_ needs. And his  _physical_ needs were very few. In fact, the simplicity of this cottage did much to calm his nerves. 

And now that Lix was here, there was not much  _he_ was missing anymore.

Lix.

She should know.

He would tell her.

While he prepared some sandwiches, he decided  _how_ he would tell her. He wouldn’t tell her about his childhood, but he would tell her what he did up here and what he had done on the cliff.

He took one last look at the plate with the sandwiches. Perfect rectangular squares. Aligned neatly so the plate nearly looked like a chessboard. He put it on the tray with the tea and the cups and brought everything to the living room.

Lix sat on the sofa, but when he approached her, he noticed that she was asleep.

Something in seeing her like this made his heart clench. At once, his strong, fierce, determined woman looked so vulnerable, so fragile. He wanted nothing more than to wrap her in the finest, warmest, softest blanket in the world and protect her from everything that could harm her.

Undecided how to deal with the new situation, he sat the tray down on the table.

He didn’t want to disturb her sleep, yet, her position on the sofa, half sitting, half leaning to the left, looked horribly uncomfortable. He finally bowed down and kissed her head.

She remained asleep.

He crouched in front of her and gently stroked her head, letting his hand slide down, over her precious jawline.

“Lix,” he murmured gently, “Lix, my Lix, don’t you want to get up and go to the bed? It is much more comfortable.”

She opened her eyes and looked at him, confused.

“Randall, what...? Oh, sorry.” 

“You are exhausted, you need a rest. Don’t you want to get up and go to my bed?”

“Cheeky…” she mumbled with a slight smirk before her eyelids closed again.

He knew Lix. Usually, she was a bundle of energy and when she was following a trace or sensed a big story, she would run for three days straight with just a few catnaps in between without showing any significant signs of tiredness. Much must have happened if it managed to exhaust Lix Storm in a way she couldn’t keep her eyes open. 

He knew the reason why she was so exhausted. 

It was his fault.

He got up and fetched his duvet and pillow from the bedroom. It was the only proper bedding in the cottage.

He placed the pillow on the right side of the sofa. Then he carefully wrapped his arms around her shoulders. Instinctively, she rested her head on his shoulder. He gently guided her to let her body sink to the right side and rest her head on the pillow. 

Then he took her legs and placed them stretched out on the sofa. He took off her shoes. It would still be uncomfortable to sleep fully clothed, but he didn’t dare to undress her without her consent. 

He wrapped her into the duvet and slowly and systematically tucked her in so she wouldn’t be cold in the night. 

He couldn’t protect her from all the bad things in this world. 

But at least here, in his cottage, he could protect her from the cold.


	24. Thursday, 8:00 p.m., Randall’s cottage near Berriedale {Randall}

“Randall?”

She mumbled without opening her eyes when he checked if he had tucked her in correctly one last time.

“Yes, my love?” He said without thinking twice. He had never called her that before. He surprised himself with using a pet name at all. It had never been something he did.

“Mind if I sleep a bit? I’m a wee bit tired.”

“You can sleep as long as you like, Lix. Don’t worry.”

“You won’t leave me, Randall? You stay with me?”

It nearly broke his heart. Her eyes were still closed, and he wasn’t sure if she was still awake or already drifting off and talking in her sleep.

He crouched beside her, gently caressed her head and kissed her forehead.

“I won’t. I’m in the armchair right beside you.”

She grabbed his arm, tight, and opened her eyes. There was something in them he had never seen before. Pure terror. And this terrified him. The Lix he knew was the bravest woman, the bravest human he knew. Of course, she was scared when shells hit close or bombers approached during an air raid but usually, she brushed it off rather quickly and faced any danger head on. He had seen her scared, but never like this. He had never seen her outright terrified!

“I don’t mean now! I mean you won’t leave me, Randall? You stay with me? Forever?”

He wasn’t prepared for an emotional outbreak from Lix. It was not like her. Just as much as being exhausted was not like her, begging him to stay with her was not like her. Lix Storm would hide her feelings inside, drown them in alcohol, maybe reach for his hand when she needed support, but not openly show her vulnerability and verbally ask for reassurance and support.

_She was not okay._

Lix,  _his_ Lix, was not okay and he hadn’t even noticed it.

He had thought so much about how he was not feeling good and was struggling with his own life and the current events that he had missed the obvious: That Lix was burdened just as much, if not more.

They both had lost their child. For her, who had given birth, it was of course much more devastating. She had carried the child in her womb for nine long months. And she had been alone when Sofia was born. Because he had left them alone. He knew how vast and terrifying the hole inside his heart was Sofia had left when he found out she was dead. How much more harrowing it had to be for Lix! And he had not even considered it; really, properly, considered it until now!

He had allowed himself to flee from it and do what he needed to do to cope with it, but he hadn’t given any thought about Lix, just assuming she was okay. He was a selfish idiot. He should have taken better care of her. He should have placed her needs first.

Unprepared as he was for it, he tried to find the right words.

“Of course, I won’t leave you, Lix… _my_ Lix. I missed you for 20 years and I miss you terribly whenever you are not with me. Don’t you worry about that. I won’t leave you. Never again.”

“Good, I’m relieved, then,” her vice-like grip on his arm loosened and her shoulders relaxed, her eyelids closing again.

“Promise?” She asked, her tired eyelids opening once more.

“Promise!” He said firmly, placing a chaste kiss on her lips. “Now sleep, my brave, determined, wonderful woman. I will be right here, watching over you while you sleep.”

“I never had a guardian.”

She tried a smile while she mumbled it. Her closing eyelids told him just  _how_ tired she was. After a few seconds her breathing evened out. Already asleep.

He sat in the armchair next to her and battled the terrible memories her last sentence stirred up. He willed them back to where they had emerged from by concentrating on Lix.

She was here.

She was safe.

She was asleep.

She was alive.

Everything was alright.


	25. Friday, 1:30 a.m., unnamed place {Randall}

The moor was getting foggier and foggier as he tried to see the only safe path under his feet. The ground vibrated under his steps like a living, breathing animal. The air was cold and damp. He had to find her.

“Lix!”

His voice was immediately muffled by the dense fog.

“Lix!”

He stumbled over a branch. He had taken the wrong direction; this wasn’t the safe path anymore!

“Lix!”

He shouted again, listening into the quiet of the night.

No answer came.

He changed direction to reach the safe path again.

“Lix!”

There was a crossing in front of him. He knew it since his childhood. Left or right? The high road out of the moor, up to the cliffs or the low road, deeper into the moor?

“Lix?”

Did he imagine it or were there heavy footsteps behind him?

He turned around and tried to see through the fog.

“Hello? Someone there? Hello?”

He listened closely.

Nothing.

He looked at the crossing.

Left, or right?

He chose the road up to the cliffs.

Now, he was sure someone was following him. Scuffling, dragging feet.

He stood still.

The feet stood still, too.

He took a few steps and heard the footsteps again.

He turned around.

Nothing.

The path became clearer and steadier, he walked faster.

The footsteps still followed him. Although they didn’t seem to walk as fast as him, they kept the same distance.

He reached the point where he could see the cliff looking out to the sea.

Close to the edge stood a man.

Freddie!

He started running.

The footsteps still followed, but now, he was more concerned for his young colleague standing much too close to the edge of the cliff.

“Freddie!”

He approached the younger man.

The man didn’t turn around.

He was now so close he could catch Freddie if he would jump.

“Freddie!”

He called again.

The younger man turned around, but when he did, he transformed into another man.

_His Father!_

“Where is my brave little soldier?”

His father asked, smiling.

Randall stood still, facing his father.

“Here, Sir!”

He mumbled.

“Can’t hear you!”

Randall straightened his back and shouted.

“Here, Sir!”

“You are his guardian, you know that, Randall? You are keeping the watch, right?”

The smile of his father deepened.

“Yes, Sir!”

He answered.

“Good. I can rely on my little soldier, can I?”

“Yes, Sir! Of course, Sir!”

“Good. Now be a good guardian, Randall!”

The face of his father transformed into the face of Freddie again.

“Time for just writing and talking is up. Time to _do_ something, Mister Brown!” 

Freddie smiled his boyish smile, brushed a single lock from his face, turned around and before Randall could do anything, he jumped off the cliff.

Randall watched in shock and horror as Freddie smashed himself at the foot of the cliff.

He heard the scuffing, dragging footsteps behind him again.

He turned around and faced –

_His father – again!_

“Some guardian you are! Why did I sent you to keep the watch if you are not capable to do even the tiniest things right?”

His father said, tears in his eyes.

Then, his father turned around and disappeared into the fog without another word.

Randall stood on the edge of the cliff and his heart was racing at maximum speed.

He looked over the edge, and saw Freddie’s dead body being tossed and turned by the waves.

“Some guardian you are!”

He heard his father's voice again, from afar, like a ghost whispering in the night.

Lix.

He had to find her.

He had taken the wrong path.

He had not been able to save Freddie, but perhaps he was able to save Lix.

He started running down the path again.

Reaching the crossing, he now took the low road.

He was surrounded by fog once more.

“Lix!”

He shouted against the cold air.

“Lix!”

He slowed down and tried to see what was left and right from the safe path.

The fog was so dense, he could hardly see anything.

“Lix!”

He took a few steps forward and noticed something beside the path.

There was a body, lying, facing down.

He would have recognized the beautiful brown hair and the strong shoulders everywhere.

“Lix!”

He shouted.

He crouched beside her, grabbed her by the shoulders and tried to turn her around, but the soggy, wet, boggy soil dragged her under.

“Lix!”

He shouted in panic, trying to reach around her shoulders to get her head out of the bog, so she could breathe again.

“Some guardian you are!”

The voice of his father again.

“Lix!”

The more he pulled, the more the bog dragged her under.

He realized he had left the safe path and now the bog started to swallow him, too.

“Lix!”

“Some guardian you are!”

There was no rescue, but maybe, if he brought his body under her body, she could breathe again while he drowned.

He managed to dig himself under her and felt how the bog started crawling around his body.

He pushed upwards with all his might, hoping that she would get her head above the surface.

“Lix! Breathe!”

He begged as he felt the heavy bog claiming him, pushing heavy against his chest, grabbing his shoulders.

“Breathe! Lix! Breathe!”

He mumbled as the boggy soil reached his mouth.

Well, at least her name should be the last word to ever leave his lips. It was a comforting thought to die with.

“Lix!”


	26. Friday, 1:40 a.m., Randall’s cottage near Berriedale {Lix}

She woke up in the middle of the night from a peaceful sleep. She hadn’t slept so well in months. Of course, she was exhausted from the long trip and from worrying so much in the past few days. But it was more. Knowing that Randall was with her again, caring for her, keeping the watch, had put her mind at ease.

She yawned and looked over to the armchair Randall sat in.

Tight asleep.

She smiled. Her guardian. He sure hadn’t wanted to go to bed because he had promised her to keep the watch. He took such things so seriously.

As she looked closer, she realized his dreams had to be all but peaceful. The corners of his mouth and eyes were twitching and sweat glistered on his forehead. From time to time, he moaned.

Suddenly, he jolted forward, shouting “Lix!” and fell back against the backrest.

She got up and tenderly shook his shoulders.

“Randall?”

He didn’t answer. He tossed his head to the side and suddenly grabbed her shoulders.

“Lix!”

He mumbled again, pulling at her shoulders with force, which let her topple forward. She wrapped him in her arms, hoping it would calm him.

“Breathe!”

“Wake up, Randall! It’s a nightmare!”

She grabbed his shoulders tight, hoping this would wake him.

“Breathe! Lix! Breathe!”

Obviously, he dreamed she wasn’t able to breathe. She wondered how she could reassure him that she was alright.

“It’s okay Randall. I _can_ breathe. Don’t worry. Just wake up, I’m alive.”

She kissed him and stroked over his sweaty hair.

“Lix!”

He mumbled with a deep sigh.

“Yes, yes, Randall, I’m here, wake up, just wake up and everything is going to be alright!”

She dug her hands into his shoulders which seemed to be finally enough to force him out of his nightmare.

He opened his eyes and stared at her, utter confusion and horror in his eyes.

“Lix?”

He asked, eyes still clouded as if he wasn’t able to tell dream from reality.

“It’s okay, Randall. You had a nightmare, a terrible one by the looks of it.”

He reached for her face, then let his hand run from her cheek to her chin, along her neck, to let it rest on her shoulder.

“You are alive!”

He sounded incredulous, as if it was a miracle.

“Of course, I am. We are in your cottage, everything is peaceful, and everything is alright,” she smiled at him and gently caressed his cheek. “Don’t you want to tell me what the nightmare was about? It must have been horrifying.”

He looked at her and let his hand run further down her body until it came to rest on her hip. Something in his expression changed.

“I… I first have to make sure you are really alive, Lix.”

He reached for the back of her head, pulled her closer, and kissed her.

It was a passionate kiss that told her more than a thousand words. This kiss held all the desperation from his nightmare. All of his fears were in it, and all the happiness to find her alive and well. It reminded her of Spain, of all the moments they celebrated that, after death had been knocking at their door once again, and against all odds, they had survived.

“Come on, Randall, let us make sure we _both_ are alive.”

It was a flashback to Spain, to the fearful nights in a cold cellar. It was not the slow, tender, playful way they usually made love. It was desperate, full of raw emotion, of deep desire, of past horrors, of harrowing experiences neither could forget, of fear of losing each other. Two deeply wounded souls seeking comfort in the passion of the other. It was what they both needed to make sure that it was true, that whatever happened, as long as they were able to cling to each other, there was still hope.

Maybe not hope for a _better_ tomorrow.

But at least hope that there would _be_ another morning.


	27. Friday, 2:45 a.m., Randall’s cottage near Berriedale {Lix}

„I’ll fetch you the pillow and the duvet,” Randall mumbled as he got up from the bed.

He sounded guilty. Guilty for what? For what they just did? She saw absolutely no reason why he should feel guilty about it. They both wanted it, they both enjoyed it, and above all, they both  _needed_ it to drive the darkness of the past few days away.

But it hadn’t been enough.

It never was.

Something dark was still lingering there, trying to grab them and drag them back into the void, in the deep moor of desperation.

_Randall was not okay._

She instantly recalled him standing on the edge of the cliff. And him grabbing her while being tortured by a nightmare.

He was not okay, and they needed to talk about it.

She followed him to the living room and caught his hand when he reached for the pillow.

“Randall, what burdens you?”

“Oh, the usual. The job, the politics, the economics, same old, same old,... Maybe some dead child and a half-dead colleague thrown in the mix,” he snarled.

She instantly recognized it for what it was: Randall’s last line of defense. When he felt cornered, fenced in by his own vulnerability and helplessness, he would lash out. Acting gruff and cynic, trying to make her mad at him. Drive her away. Make her retreat. So, he would have proof that he wasn’t worthy of her love.

She knew it: if she pushed further now, it would stir up something painful. He would suffer. He would probably break down. But if she let him slip, would the consequences be worse? Something told her that this time, she should stay persistent, maybe risking their relationship, maybe saving it. More important, she felt that maybe she would save his life.

“Who are you trying to protect by not letting it out? Me or you? Randall, _you are not okay_. I know it. I wouldn’t be here if I wouldn’t have sensed it in the letter you wrote before leaving. It is my fault I haven’t sensed it earlier. Just… just tell me. Or shout at me. Or lay waste on this cottage if it helps, but don’t exclude me from your pain.”

Randall freed himself from her grip and paced to the small bookshelf beside the fireplace. He pulled the last book out and started to rectify the remaining ones so their spines were exactly aligned with the shelf board. As far as she could see, they had been like that before, but maybe she didn't see the nuances. Randall put the last book back in.

Until now, he had averted his gaze. Now, he turned around and their eyes met.

Something about this look, about his eyes, hit her deep inside. It made her feel the same panic she had felt when she had seen him standing on the edge of the cliff.

It were the eyes of a fatally wounded animal.

“Can't you _see_ Lix? Can't you see what happens? That it happens _again_?”

By Randal's standards, It was nearly a shout.

A shout out of agony.

The agony of a desperate soul.

“What happens again, Randall?”

He looked down to his hands as if they didn't belong to himself.

“It's slipping. You are slipping. Everybody I want to hold slips through my fingers because I can't hold them. Because I'm not able to hold them. Because I fail.”

He turned silent, just staring at his fingers.

She stepped towards him but something made her hesitate. She didn't dare touching him. She wasn't sure what would happen next. And fit of rage? A meltdown? She tried her most reassuring voice, the one she would use to talk to a frightened child.

“Randall, don't you want to sit down and tell me about it?”

He now opened and closed his fingers until they remained clenched to a fist. He then pressed both fists right under his nose, squinting his eyes as if in pain.

She stepped closer and put one arm around his tense shoulders. She carefully tried to push a bit and he followed her movement. She gently guided him to sit down on the sofa.

He put his elbows on his knees, his fists remained pressed under his nose and against his mouth, his eyes tightly shut.

“You know you can talk to me, Randall. Whatever it is, nothing is so terrible that you can't tell me. Whatever it is, it will not make me think less of you. Or respect you less. Or love you less. It doesn't have to be in the right sequence. It doesn't have to make sense to me. Maybe it doesn't even have to make sense to you. Just... just tell me about it. Tell me what burdens you so much that it drives you to the edge of a cliff. Tell me _what it is that happens again_.”


	28. Friday, 3:00 a.m., Randall’s cottage near Berriedale {Randall}

“Tell me what burdens you so much that it drives you to the edge of a cliff. Tell me _what happens again_.”

How should he tell her?

How should he tell her about the mess he was inside?

What a failure of a human being she had agreed to marry?

It was only fair to tell her.

She had a _right_ to know it.

But where to start?

What he did as an adult to cope? Or what it was like being a 12-year-old who just had _one_ thing to do, and do it right. Failing, losing everything?

Just one thing.

Just one.

One.

The feeling of his fists pressed to his mouth and his nose anchored him in reality. They helped him to stay in the here and now. The pressure from the outside released some of the pressure that threatened to blow him up inside.

“Some guardian you are!”

He whispered, knowing it wouldn't make sense to Lix.

The sentence from his nightmare.

The sentence from his father.

The sentence his father spoke so long ago, tears in his eyes.

Him coming home.

Coming home late.

Because he dawdled on his way home from school.

Because he watched the fish in the river.

Because he was standing on the bridge.

Too long.

He saw it again.

He came back home again.

He searched again.

Didn't find her anywhere.

Not in the kitchen.

The relief, not seeing her standing there with a knife.

Not in the living room.

The relief, not finding her there with a rope in her hands.

Not in her bedroom.

The relief, not having her lying there, closer to death than to life.

The bathroom.

The bathtub.

“Mommy!”

He whispered.


	29. Friday, 3:05 a.m., Randall’s cottage near Berriedale {Lix}

“Mommy!”

The way he whispered the word nearly broke her heart. It sounded so desperate, so horrified, so sad.

Lix tenderly put her arm around his shoulder.

“You can tell me about her, you know, Randall? Maybe it helps. Sometimes it helps when we just tell someone else, even if it is painful.”

He slowly took his fists from his nose and put them down on his knees. He watched them for a while, then he uncurled the right one. She put her hand in his and squeezed it gently. Then, she wrapped her other arm around his arm and caressed it. He relaxed a bit and let his head sink towards her head.

When their heads rested firmly together, Randall began to speak, slowly, quietly, haltingly. He sounded as if he was far, far away.

“She was melancholic. That's what it was called. Nowadays they tend to call it 'depression'. Doesn't matter, really. I don't know if it was her personality or if something had happened that made her that way. My father never spoke about it. Personally, I think it runs in the family.

“It became worse when my father got a better job and we moved in a modern flat with more amenities. We had an own bathroom, including even a bathtub, for example...”

A shiver ran through him.

“For some reasons, this worsened my mother's condition. I don't know why, really, maybe she felt we were living above our standards. She...”

He fell silent. She kneaded his arm reassuringly until he could speak again.

“She was just melancholic and seldom smiled or laughed before, but after we moved, she... we caught her several times attempting to kill herself. My father tried everything to protect her. He locked away all the kitchen knifes. My father also locked away his ties and his suspenders. I had to promise to him I did the same with mine and kept my wardrobe locked at all times. There were no ropes in our household, not even balls of wool, and the sewing thread and scissors were locked away by my father, they were only taken out if needed. Everything had its place and a lot of things considered dangerous were locked away. 'If everything has its place and is in its place no bad things will happen' was my father's credo.”

Lix gulped at the sheer horror of imagining living in such an organized household. A household organized by  _fear of losing the mother to suicide_ . That would explain why Randall always needed to have everything  _exactly_ right.

“Of course, keeping someone from killing herself wouldn't stop by keeping every dangerous _thing_ away from her. She could still go for a walk and drown herself in the river. Or jump from a bridge. So, my father made sure she would never be alone. He had to work during the day, so, in the mornings, his sister who lived nearby was coming over, helping my mother with the household. But she had to leave in the afternoon to care for her own family. So, it was crucial... it was absolutely crucial that I...”

Randall released her hand, folding his hands together and bit in his index finger, squeezing his eyes shut.

“I had to go home from school straight away so my mother wasn't alone for too long after my aunt left.”

He took a deep breath, relaxed his hands and stared to the fireplace. When he continued speaking, he slowly raised his right hand.

“My father made me swear an oath. I had to swear that I would be my mother's guardian. That I would always be home on time, and keep an eye on her until he came home from work. He made me swear it. I did. And he often reminded me how crucial it was that I kept this promise, that I would watch over her, be her guardian.”

He took down his hand and stared at it. Again, as if it was alien. As if it didn't belong to himself.

“One day... I was late... I stopped on the bridge and watched the fish instead of going home immediately... when I came home...” he gulped, “...when I came home, my mother was nowhere to be found.”

He rubbed his hands.

“I... I... I went to the bathroom, and there... there was broken glass on the floor... and she... and she was...”

His hands started to shake, he tried to get them under control, but it just got worse. Lix stood up and cowered in front of him, taking his hands into hers.

“It's okay, Randall, stop if it is too painful. It's okay. I can imagine.”

“No, you can't!”

He snarled, the pure horror in his eyes and his suddenly raised voice nearly forcing her to let go of his hands. But she held them tight, sensing this connection was somehow important to keep him from drowning in his own memories.

“You can't imagine how it is to try pulling your own mother out of the bathtub, failing, because she is too heavy for you. You can't imagine how it is like, desperately searching for something, _anything_ , to bandage the wounds to stop the bleeding. How it is to run to your aunt, begging her to come with you. How she looks at you in pure horror because you are drenched in water and blood. You can't imagine how it is to hear the doctor declaring your mother dead. And you never. Never. Never. Will be able to imagine how it is to see your father breaking down in tears, realizing that the love of his life is dead. And that she is dead because _you failed to do your duty_!”


	30. Friday, 3:30 a.m., Randall’s cottage near Berriedale {Randall}

There it was, out in the open. The whole ugly truth. The story of how his whole life turned into a failure from that point.

He opened his eyes and looked at his hands. Lix's hands still held them tight. She hadn't let go of them when he started shouting his desperation at her. She hadn't let go when he revealed what a miserable, irresponsible, despicable human being he was.

He nearly didn't dare to look into her eyes but finally forced himself to do it.

Their eyes met.

Lix's eyes were wet.

“How old were you, Randall?”

She didn't ask 'How could you let her down like that?' or 'Why on Earth did you dawdle like that, knowing the condition your mom was in?'

She just wanted to know how old he was.

“Twelve. Turned twelve the month before it happened,” he uttered, surprised.

Lix closed her eyes and a single tear ran down both her cheeks. She let go of his left hand and instead cupped his cheek.

“And you feel responsible that it happened?”

“Of course , I _am_ responsible for it,” he said, astonished.

Hadn't he been clear enough about what had happened and why it had happened?

“I wasn't there in time because I dawdled on my way home,” he added to put the facts straight.

“Randall,” Lix kept on gently stroking his cheek with her thumb, “it wasn't your fault. Your mother was very ill. No one would have been able to keep her from finding a way to kill herself, no matter what your family tried. She would have needed professional help. And it was very, very wrong to burden you with watching over her. It would have been an impossible task for an adult. Not to mention an eleven-year-old boy.”

He heard her words, but he couldn't process them. He just stared into Lix's blue eyes and saw her lips move. Her words, however, were so far from what he had heard all his life, and from everything he expected to hear, they didn't make any sense.

Lix got up and pulled him close to her chest. He felt her head closing in on the top of his head.

“You were only eleven, Randall! You are right, I can't imagine how it feels to lose your mother that way. And I can't even begin to imagine how it must have been to grow up in a family where every action is guided by the fear of the mother taking her own life. You were a child, Randall. You should have been the one someone takes care of, not the other way round. It wasn't your fault. And it was wrong your father made you swear that oath. He should have known that it was impossible to fulfill. You are not responsible for what happened. Stop telling that to yourself.”

He freed himself from her grip to look up to her.

“But it is. It is the one thing we all can agree on.”

“Who 'we all'? Because I don't.”

“My father, my aunt, the doctor, everybody said so. If I had been back about ten minutes earlier, she could have been saved.”

Why didn't Lix understand it? It was easy enough to grasp and Lix usually was quick-witted and saw through even very complex things.

“But don't you see it, Randall? It was bound to happen anyway. Could have been on your aunt's watch or your father's watch just as much! It was extremely unfortunate that it happened to you. They shouldn't have blamed you for something that was never your fault! _They_ are to blame for not getting your mom proper help, and for not protecting you like you deserved!”

He felt anger welling up. It was infuriating how Lix was not able to  _see._ How she missed that it was a clear pattern. He jumped up from the sofa, making her stumble backwards, staring at him. He started to pace up and down the living room.

“But Lix, it's a pattern! Don't you see it? I failed in protecting my mom! I failed in protecting Sofia! I failed in protecting Freddie! And right here and now, _I fail in protecting you_!”


	31. Friday, 3:40 a.m., Randall’s cottage near Berriedale {Lix}

“Right here and now, _I fail in protecting you!_ ”

Lix stared at him in disbelief. Had he really just blamed himself not only for failing to protect his mom, his daughter, and his colleague, but also to protect her? Why did he feel he needed to protect her? From what? And why did he fail doing so? Lix Storm had never needed anyone's protection at any point of her life. She had always taken full responsibility for her actions and fended for herself.

Now that she knew what deep trauma lay hidden beneath Randall's surface she understood many things. But not the last sentence.

“Fail in protecting _me_ , Randall? Why on Earth should I need your protection? And from what?”

She saw his face mirroring her own incredulity. Just as much as she didn't understand what he was referring to, he didn't understand how she couldn't get what seemed so obvious to him.

“From yourself, Lix! You are drowning your sorrows, drinking yourself to death instead of _talking_ about what troubles you. And I even failed to notice _how much_ you suffer! Instead, I fled, leaving you alone in London. I even worried you so much that you came seeking me out instead of enjoying a few quiet days without that mess of a fiancé you have burdened yourself with. Don't you see it? You are killing yourself on my watch! The next one on my list! And I am not man enough to prevent it from happening!”

It hit her. It hit her in a different way than she had expected. Those past few days she had been occupied with worrying about Randall. She hadn't felt the need for a drink except that one time in the pub. And she wasn't even sure if it had just been out of habit. She was not sure she could keep up being sober, but even when Randall had revealed his terrible childhood she hadn't felt the need to drown that knowledge. Instead, she just felt the need to console him and protect him from his own stupid self-loathing. If she needed one final push for her decision, it was the worried look in his eyes.

“Randall, you stupid idiot,” she smiled, able to tell from his surprised look that he had neither expected her to use such language, nor that she smiled at him after his outburst, “you are not responsible for any of us. If I drink myself to death, that is not on you. For what it's worth, I decided to stop after the last hangover in London, after I drank myself into incapacitation because I had found your letter. Randall...”

She stepped closer, taking his clenched fists into her hands, slowly uncurling them.

“...you are both: wiser than me and more stupid than me. You probably did the only clever thing you could do when it all became too much in London. You fled to this place where you have friends. Where you knew people cared about you. Yes, they might do stupid things, like Ian, but basically, they are having your back. Like Lissy. While I drowned the loss of our daughter and all the other terrible things, you chose the healthier alternative.”

She had now uncurled his hands completely and lifted them between them.

“At the same time, you are terribly stupid! Haven't you told me not too long ago that _I_ haven't killed our daughter? That it was _war_ what killed her? And yet, here you are, blaming yourself for her death! And not only that. You blame yourself for the condition Freddie is in, although you know fully well that it is _impossible_ to stop Freddie once that young bloodhound has set his nose on a track! Just as impossible as it would have been to stop a young Randall Brown from going after a good story.”

She placed both his hands in her left hand and reached to his cheek with her right hand. She carefully cupped it. Randall closed his eyes.

“Randall, you are not responsible for _everything_. You are not responsible for me drinking. You are not responsible for what happened to Freddie. Or for what will happen to any of us working for and with you on _The Hour_. We are all adults and we are responsible for ourselves. And especially, you are not responsible for what happened to you mother.”

She gently caressed his cheek with her thumb.

“She was an adult. It was her decision to take her life. Your father and your aunt, they were adults. They were also not responsible for her death. I think they tried their best to protect her, but unfortunately, they didn't know what would have helped her. Science is still researching and trying to understand what is now called 'depression', and back then the knowledge was scarce, and much less wide spread. I don't blame them for not knowing how to help your mom. But I _do_ blame them that they forced a _child_ to feel responsible for the life of his suicidal mother. Randall... I think it is amazing.”

He opened his eyes and looked at her in disbelief. She let go of his cheek and his hands, and carefully put her hands on his hips.

“It _is_ amazing, Randall. Here you are. It would only be logical if someone who had experienced such trauma at a very young age would turn into a cold, cruel, distant human being who stopped caring about anybody but himself. Repeating, retaliating, doing to others what was done to himself. But you are the opposite. You care so much about everybody around you. You became such a wonderful, protective, considerate, compassionate, capable man despite of what was done to you. I'm not in a position to say I'm proud of you as I have contributed nothing to achieve this, but I say it anyway: I am proud of what a man you have become!”


	32. Friday, 3:50 a.m., Randall’s cottage near Berriedale {Randall}

“I am proud of what a man you have become!”

There they were, the words he had longed to hear from his father all his life and never heard.

The words that would have meant so much.

No matter how hard he had tried to right the wrong, to fix his mistake by becoming a better person, more responsible, more adherent to the rules, more organized than anybody else, more successful in his job than anybody else.

To his father, he had remained a failure.

And although these words came from Lix, came from a person so unlike his father, in many regards exactly the opposite of his father, they still did something.

Deep inside, where everything was broken, shattered, and suppurated, they did something.

They didn't heal the wounds, but it felt like they applied some healing lotion and bandaged them more effectively than he was able to do it.

He felt Lix's strong arms crawling around him and knew that he was safe.

He could give up control and let himself fall into these arms because Lix, _his_ Lix, she was able to hold him. She was strong enough to bear with him. She _understood_ him.

He let his head rest on her shoulder and did nothing to hold back the tears. The tears of a twelve-year-old who had lost his mother, the tears of a teen leaving secondary school with the best grades of his class, yet, his father telling him he was not capable and responsible enough to go to university. The tears of a grown man who failed in protecting everything and everybody he loved.

And Lix held him.

“That's good, Randall, cry. Let it out. Let it hurt. Cry. It's about time.”

She didn't tell him to man up and that soldiers didn't cry.

She didn't scold him for being a failure.

She didn't accuse him for running away from his responsibilities.

She didn't even say that everything would be alright, probably because she knew just as well as he did that it wasn't true, that one of the bitter lessons everybody had to learn was that there would never be an “all right” moment in life.

She just held him, and gave him the permission to cry. To sob helplessly, defenselessly. Because in the arms of Lix, _his_ Lix, he didn't need to hide his wounds. He didn't need to defend himself, or be ashamed of himself, or guard himself. It was okay. He could just _be_. And be _himself_ , not a version of himself that fulfilled anyone's expectations, just _himself_.

“You are so strong, Randall, you are so incredibly strong. You know that?”

She gently stroked his back.

Strong? Here he was, crying his eyes out on her shoulder like a little boy and she said he was strong? That wasn't strong, that was the opposite of strong.

“I'm so strong that I need you to keep me from falling to the floor,” he mumbled, horrified by hearing how hoarse and weak his own voice sounded.

“So what? So, what, Randall? Isn't that what partners are there for? To support each other? Always?”

He nodded. It was true. He always had wanted to give that support but never felt how much he needed it himself. But then again, he sometimes felt that Lix was also holding herself back, not wanting to burden him with her troubles, drowning them instead.

He grabbed her shoulder, tight.

“I think I understand that, Lix. I understand it, _now_.”

He had to look into her eyes. No matter how terrible he looked, he needed to look into those eyes,  _now_ . He straightened his back and released his head from her shoulder to face her.

“But I'm not sure you understand it yourself, Lix.”


	33. Friday, 4:10 a.m., Randall’s cottage near Berriedale {Lix}

“But I'm not sure you understand it yourself, Lix.”

Lix looked into his eyes which were red and wet. She didn't know what he meant. Of course, she understood. She understood that Randall never had been granted the permission to show his feelings, to be weak, and that she could offer him just that. He, the organized man who always did his duty, who always would freely give his support to everybody, he wasn't able to allow himself to be weak. Someone else had to give him the permission to break down. And she had felt how much he had needed it.

“Sure, I understand that, Randall.”

Randall now slowly regained his composure, cleaned his nose and his face. Then, he gently took her chin in his hands and gave her a wan smile.

“Do you really, Lix? Do you understand your own words? That partners are here to support each other? That I am here for you just like you were here for me right now? Because, sometimes I feel you prefer to retreat and drown what burdens you instead of telling me.”

It hit her. Hard. Of course, it was true. She didn't want to burden him with her sorrows. No, it was more than that. She had learned early to fend for herself, to not show any weakness, to become tougher, cleverer, and faster to survive. It helped her to grow up. It helped her later in her life to outsmart her male competitors, to achieve the position she was in now. Somewhere along the line she had literally forgotten how to deal with her own feelings. Drowning them was the easy way out. Telling Randall about them... it seemed so much harder.

And there he stood, his reddened eyes glowing with deep affection, nearly begging her to let him see the battlefield of her devastated soul.

“You are right, Randall... that's why I think you are so strong. Because... I think you found a much healthier way to deal with the pain inside... although...”

She recalled seeing him standing on the edge of the cliff.

“...what did you _do_ on the edge of that cliff if you didn't want to jump?”

“Oh, Lix, Lix, _my_ Lix, you will never let me slip, right? In no sense, ever?”

His smile widened and he gently stroked her cheek.

“It might sound weird, but would you like to go for a short stroll outside? I know it is the middle of the night but it is clear, the stars are out and there is nothing more beautiful than the starry sky around this time of year. Sometimes I even caught some northern lights when I went outside that early.”

She didn't know if this was again an attempt to avoid the topic or if Randall needed to be outside in the cold to tell her.

She decided it didn't matter, that she would go with him wherever he wanted to go.

She slipped out of his shirt which she had used as a makeshift nightgown and got dressed. When she took her coat, Randall eyed her critically. Then, he went back to the bedroom and brought a woolen sweater.

“Here, it is freezing cold outside, you don't want to catch a cold, do you?”

Their eyes met. She saw in his eyes that they both thought the same – that he sounded like an overprotective father. She felt the pain deep inside, being reminded of what they had lost. What they could have been together if they wouldn't have made stupid mistakes.

They stared at each other for a moment. Then she took the sweater and put it on.

Randall gently straightened her ruffled hair and helped her in her coat. Then, he slung the scarf around her neck, made sure her coat was buttoned up properly, and there was no way the cold could creep in anywhere.

“No use in arguing with fate, Lix,” he uttered, unclear if he told himself or her, placing a chaste kiss on her forehead. “Better you come with me, stargazing.”

He took her hand in his.

Together, they went outside.


	34. Friday, 4:40 a.m., unnamed beach outside Berriedale {Randall}

They walked to the shore, to the place they had been to a few hours earlier. The stars were out and the waning, but still rather full moon flooded the scenery with a ghostly, silvery light. The sea was rather calm, but in the distance, right beyond the cliff where Randall had stood earlier on the waves were clashing menacingly to the rocks.

He loved this place. He loved how there was this conflict between the calmness and the peacefulness of the shore, the stars and the moon, and the roughness, the sheer, untamed ferociousness of the cliffs, the rocks and the sea. And he loved how the waves were both: gentle and calm when they had enough space to run out in the sand, and violent and ruthless when they clashed to the rocks.

This place resonated deeply with him. Now, if he found a way to explain it to Lix...

He turned to the woman beside him. He saw her gaze lingering on the cliff. Right, then! He told himself. He was a journalist, a man of words by profession. He should be well capable to tell her...

“Sometimes... sometimes it is all too much. If there is too much going on... too much pressure... too much happening at the same time... too much to deal with... I start making mistakes. Small ones, at first. I compensate by doing things even more meticulously than usual. I don't know if it is visible for the observer, but my quirks and my fidgeting intensifies. Sometimes, I just realize that _this_ happens, and _then_ trace it back to mistakes I didn't even realize I was making.”

He hoped that this somehow made sense to Lix. He realized that he had unconsciously started to straighten out the collar of her coat and more or less talked to her collar. A small smirk in the corner of her mouth told him she had realized it, too. He let go of her collar, blushing slightly.

“Hey,” Lix smiled, “straighten out my collar if it helps you to speak. I don't mind.”

He nodded and smiled sheepishly. She understood him. Maybe even better than he did himself. He put his hands in his pockets, anyway, and turned slightly, looking out to the sea.

“Sometimes it helps. Sometimes, however... _they_ come...” he trailed off, trying to gather his thoughts.

He felt Lix's arm crawling around his arm, kneading it gently.

“Who comes?”

Feeling her kneading his arm was nice. It helped straightening out his thoughts. Staring to the waves playing with the sand and the gravel on the shore helped, too.

“The thoughts...and the nightmares... By day, the thoughts start to occupy my mind. And in the night, the nightmares keep me awake. By day, my thoughts force me to think about all the mistakes I made in my life and how everybody would be better off without me, and by night the nightmares show me versions of my past... exaggerated, confusing, evilly twisted versions of my past... like horror movies, only that they seem real to me. I can see, hear, feel, taste, and smell everything, they seem all too real.”

He bit his lip. Lix still kneaded his arm. An anchor in reality.

“It is a vicious circle. The more horrendous the nightmares are, the more they force me to stay awake, so I don't get enough sleep. If I don't get enough sleep, I become grouchy, cynical, and make more mistakes during the day. The more mistakes I make, the worse the intrusive thoughts get, the more they try to convince me to end it all. The more I loathe myself, the more violent the nightmares become. Go, figure...”

He looked up to the stars and let his mind try to find familiar patterns until he had phrased the next part of his confession right.

“A long time, my solution to this was to drown out the thoughts and the nightmares. You know yourself how well that works, Lix.”

He looked at her and lost himself in her wonderful blue eyes, two endless oceans he wanted to dive into, because they promised understanding and healing, because they really, properly _saw_ him. 

“The next day, you are _still_ a mess, only that now you are hungover and hate yourself even more.”

Lix nodded. He knew that she knew it well. He really hoped she had been serious earlier on, that she would stop drinking. He didn't want to lose her. He wanted to be able to still get lost in her eyes when he was eighty.

“I tried different things. Some worked for a while, some didn't work at all...”

He let his gaze travel over the waves to the horizon, watching the moonlight play with the waves.

“I bought a boat when my father died. I wanted to get away, cut all ties, hoist the anchor, just me and the endless sea, no people to deal with, no responsibility other than for myself.”

He took a deep breath, inhaling the salty air from the sea.

“I love the sea, but I soon realized, I am by no means a sailor. I don't like that, no matter how good a navigator you are, you are still at the mercy of the wind and the waves.”

“As a sailor, you are never fully in control what happens,” Lix mused, beside him, following his gaze.

“I think you nailed it, Lix. It wasn't for me. I need control, I need to have my feet on the ground. So, I sold the boat again. After that, I wanted to feel exactly that. My feet on the ground. I went for a hiking trip up here. Only me, the hills, the valleys, the meadows, the moor, and the shores. Again, no people, no responsibilities, only the bare minimum of luggage.”

He smiled a sad smile, thinking about his past self. A lost soul, without any idea where he was going or what he was about to do. An aimless wanderer, without perspective, without ideas, without hope. 

“Somewhere between Helmsdale and John o' Groats I was caught off guard by one of those exceptionally early onsets of winter. Suddenly, a strong wind got up, temperature dropped, and it started snowing. I was in no way prepared for it. Night was setting in, and I had overestimated how far I could walk under those circumstances. I was exhausted. I let myself sink onto a rock...” 

He looked around, and found a fitting one. He sat down. It was cold. Maybe not as cold as it had been back then, there wasn't even the faintest smell of snow in the air, but still, cold enough to remind him of that night. Lix wanted to sit beside him, but he guided her to sit on his knees. She shouldn't freeze. Under no circumstances would he allow her to be harmed by his quirky ideas and the need to relive the moment to structure his thoughts.

He felt her weight and her warmth against his body and it felt marvelous. He wrapped his arms around her and allowed his head to rest for a moment between her shoulder blades. It felt like it was meant to be that way, a special resting place for his head.

He still couldn't fully grasp that it was real.

That he wasn't alone anymore.


	35. Friday, 4:55 a.m., unnamed beach outside Berriedale {Randall}

After a moment he had brought what had happened that night into the right sequence.

“So, I sat on that rock and felt the cold creeping in, surrounding me. And I thought, well, maybe this is it... I will just sit here and freeze to death. Not a bad way to die. After a while, you don't feel the freezing cold anymore, you know? Everything becomes somehow... unimportant... laughable futile... nothing matters anymore, you know? And I felt that I reached the point where I would simply fall asleep and wouldn't wake up anymore. And, oh well,...”

He reached for Lix's hands, felt that they were cold, rubbed them gently and forced them into the pockets of her coat, still holding them tight.

“... I thought what a relief it would be. Not being there anymore. No more pain, no more sorrow, no more _thoughts_... But then I thought about our daughter...” he felt Lix's grip tightening around his hands, “...and I thought: no, not like that. Not today. I first have to find our daughter and tell her what a wonderful person she has become, despite the circumstances. And then, she shouldn't be burdened with knowing that her father had killed himself. Because I knew how it hurt, you know, how it makes you wonder if this is a part you inherited?”

He needed a moment to swallow the lump in his throat. He felt Lix swallowing just as hard.

“And so, I resumed all my willpower, stood up, and marched on. I was lucky. I reached Gunn Arms after about two miles, more a walking, talking icicle than anything else, probably closer to death than to life. But I was safe. Ian immediately coddled me up with stew and tea, although even back then it was a fight not to have any whisky in it.”

He smiled at the thought. How Lissy and Ian had argued over it. And how Lissy had threatened to throw Ian in the Berriedale Water to see how good the whisky kept him warm while swimming around this time of year. Nothing Lix needed to know, though.

“That night changed many things, Lix. For the first time in years, no, decades, maybe the first time in my life, I felt _at home_. Those people who I didn't know, I was a total stranger to, they took care of me in a way I never experienced. It was something about... the _natural_ way... they... _accepted_ me. They didn't ask where I came from, they didn't ask why I brought myself into this condition, they didn't mind my quirks, they didn't mind that I talked differently, they just put an additional plate to their table as if I were a family member, they gave me a room, and told me to stay as long as I needed to recover.”

He smiled fondly at the memory.

“When I came there, I was not only suffering from hypothermia, I was also mentally exhausted. But something happened there. Something that calmed me and pieced some of the broken pieces together. I never went to John o' Groats. I stayed here and strolled around. When it was time to leave, I wanted to pay Ian for the room and the food but he refused to take the money.”

Lix turned here head and he could sense her surprise.

“I know what you are thinking, Lix, but it is never black and white in this world. You and me, we should know that best. Ian is both: a gigantic idiot and one of the kindest people I know.”

Randall felt how Lix body stiffened. Memories of their common past or thinking about Ian slipping him alcohol? Perhaps both.

“Ian explained to me that when he was nine or ten, his father had saved a fisherman from drowning. He coddled him up, gave him a good meal and a bed for the night, and the next morning he had recovered well enough to go home. Ian had been surprised that his father, who had always been closefisted and didn't allow anyone to pay his beer or his shopping just one day later didn't take any money from the fisherman. And that was when his father told him that while you had to keep a close eye on the money as an innkeeper, you also had a duty to care for those in need. That if someone was shipwrecked you had to provide him with anything he needs without asking for money. That it would violate a law as old as the ocean and the mountains if anyone would not do so. And Ian said that the way I looked when I came in from the cold, I was obviously a man who had been shipwrecked. And that, whenever I felt like this again, I should come back because there would always be a place for me at his table.”

“Ian didn't struck me as especially compassionate.”

Lix uttered, turning her head slightly. He would have loved to look into her eyes, which was impossible in the position they sat in. He knew that they would be full of doubt.

“He isn't perfect. No one is. I think it is a lesson I started to learn up here, a lesson I am still learning. No one is perfect. No one gets it right all the time. No one gets it _exactly_ right. We will never stop doing dumb things, insensitive things, even dangerous things to ourselves and other people. I think the point is... somehow... to do both: accepting that this is a fact, and still, not hating ourselves for it, and never stop... hmmm... trying.”

He paused. He wondered if what he said made sense. And if his next sentence would make sense to Lix, if she would understand how he meant it.

“I think it is an important lesson... I still haven't learned it, really. And neither have you, I think. Lix, I want to learn this lesson together with you.”


	36. Friday, 5:20 a.m., unnamed beach outside Berriedale {Lix}

“Lix, I want to learn this lesson together with you.”

Here she sat on the knees of the man she loved, looking out to the waves and the cliffs, feeling his words sinking deep into her soul. Accepting that she wasn't perfect. That it was was okay to make mistakes. That it was okay, and nothing you should hate yourself for. He was so right, yet, it was so hard if you made so many mistakes in your life.

She stood up to be able to look into his eyes.

“I'd love to, Randall. But... I don't know if I'm able to... I have made too many mistakes and I think I'm too broken inside. There is no way to fix how broken I am.”

He also got up, stepped close to her, leaned his forehead against hers and took her face in his hands.

“I felt the same a few hours ago. When we stood here. And when we went up to the hill in the setting sun. I felt that I was so shattered inside that there was no way to fix it, ever. But... something happens, Lix. Things change. Maybe we are both broken. We are definitely both not okay. But, right now, I'm pretty confident that we can fix it. Together.”

She  _wanted_ to believe him. It would be incredible if they managed to get better, together. But she doubted there would ever be a way to fill the hole she felt inside.

She looked into his blue-green eyes and wished she could make him understand. He had been completely honest with her. It would be wrong not to tell him the truth, even if it hurt him.

“That would be incredible, Randall. But I think there's just a great big black hole inside of me, right at the spot where you have a big heart. I don't think it can be fixed.”

It was exactly how she felt right now.

“You overcame your childhood trauma. You stopped drinking. You are able to forgive Ian what he did. I, however, hate him for slipping you the drinks. I'm not sure if I am strong enough to stop drinking, to face this world when I am sober. And I'm not sure if I will ever be able to be as open about my feelings as you are, Randall. I don't know if it will ever work out the way you wish it to work out.”

“Lix,...” there was a tender smile in the corners of his mouth and in his eyes as he gently grabbed her shoulders and guided her to turn around, facing the sea again. He stepped behind her and closed his arms around her, leaning her back against his chest, resting his head on her shoulder, also looking out to the sea.

“Lix, Lix, _my_ Lix, you see that cliff?”

He pointed to it.

Of course, she saw that dreaded cliff. Immediately, her heart leaped in her throat again, recalling the shock of seeing him standing on its edge.

“You know how often I stood there, those past few years? It is my way to cope with all what is broken inside. When everything becomes too much; I go there to feel the option. I need to feel that I can end all the pain right there and then by simply letting myself fall forward. Into the arms of death. It is something I need when the dark thoughts and the nightmares threaten to overwhelm me. I need it to recall that whatever happens, I'm still in control of one thing: my own life.”

She shivered at the thought. Randall pulled her closer to his chest.

“You know, the thing is, I always find good reasons not to do it. To go back and resume what I have left off, although it means pain and sorrow. And one of those reasons was _always_ you. I couldn't go before I had spoken to you at least one more time. I couldn't go as long as I didn't know what became of our daughter. And later, when we worked together again, I thought that you might feel somehow responsible for it. And, as I said, I would never do that to you.”

He caressed her arms.

“But this time it was different. For the first time I didn't just feel it was my duty to go back and face the pain again, that I would leave things unfinished and disappoint people if I let myself fall forward. For the first time, I felt I would _lose_ something. That I would be _missing out_. That there was a future lying ahead that would be worth facing all the pain and the sorrow.”

Again, he guided her gently around so she would face him.

“You, Lix Storm. I want this future with you. There is so much to explore together, so much we can learn, so much we can _be_. Lix, we are so much more together than just colleagues and two people with a dark past. We are good journalists and it is a joy working with you, but I think there is so much more. This future that lies ahead, I think it can be exciting. That I am standing here, on this shore I love with the woman I love, it is already more exciting than everything else that happened in my life.”


	37. Friday, 5:30 a.m., unnamed beach outside Berriedale {Lix}

“That I am standing here, on this shore I love with the woman I love, it is already more exciting than everything else that happened in my life.”

He looked into her eyes, and there was something heartbreakingly open about that look. He had let her see inside his soul tonight, and in those eyes was so much hope, so much confidence, so much affection. She wasn't sure she deserved all of that.

“Sometimes I think you see more in me than I really am, Randall.”

“I highly doubt it, I think you see far less than you really are in yourself, Lix. But just come with me, come, it is about time, let's go to the cliff.”

She gazed at him in horror. What did he mean to imply? She had no intention to go to the edge of a cliff to see if she wanted to jump. It seemed so contradicting to what Randall had just said. She didn't know how she should respond. She felt her heart leaping in her throat once more.

For a short moment they just stared at each other. Randall frowned, then his face lit up, and he smiled sheepishly.

“No, no, no, not to go to the edge. That was not what I tried to suggest. I meant, let us just go on top of that cliff. It will soon be dawning and I want to show you one of the most beautiful places to watch the sun rise over the sea I have ever found.”

Of course, this made much more sense.

He stretched out his hand and she took it.

Together they walked along the shoreline, then took the small path that led up to the cliff. They didn't say much. He had revealed so much of what he was and what shaped him this night. It was such an incredible amount of trust he had shown towards her. She needed time to process it all.

And so they walked up the cliff, side by side, both lost in their own thoughts.

When they reached the top, the first light of dawn already painted a thin grey-blue line over the horizon.

They stood, in safe distance from the edge, and looked to the sea.

Randall placed his right hand on her right shoulder and gently massaged a special spot below her hairline with his thumb. Like ever so often during the past few weeks she marveled how he remembered all the small details, all the things she loved and he discovered twenty years ago.

“What was my mistake, Lix?”

He asked suddenly. She turned her face towards him and frowned, not knowing what he referred to.

“What gave me away? What left you so worried that you decided you had to leave London and come searching for me?”

She recalled the evening she found his letter. She smiled when she remembered.

“The dot.”

“The dot?”

“Yes,” she reached inside her coat and drew his letter from her inside pocket.

“You carry the letter with you?”

“Sure. I save all your letters, Randall. And at first, I wasn't sure it wasn't a suicide note. It could have very well been the last thing you ever wrote to me.”

He turned to her, a shocked expression in his eyes.

“I never meant to worry you that way. I never intended to worry you at all, Lix! I tried everything to put your mind at ease.”

He took her chin in his hands, sorrow in his eyes.

“I wanted you to feel reassured. I promised you to be back the next Tuesday. You know me, and you know that I will keep my promise, no matter what! Oh, Lix, Lix, _my_ Lix, I'm so sorry.”

She smiled at his worried expression.

“I know you well, Randall, and that was probably what made it impossible for you to escape without having me worried. I know you, and I know your way of writing letters to me. Don't forget I had a few really beautifully worded invitations on my desk, recently.”

She thought about the small envelopes she sometimes found on her typewriter. More precisely, she found them every Friday around four, and always exactly in the middle of the keys. Unlike the way he wrote as a journalist and _Head of News_ , those invitations were nearly poetic. A bit old-fashioned, maybe, but she liked it that way. They always asked the same, but always worded a bit differently. They asked if she would grant him the pleasure to spend her precious Saturday with him, proposing things they could do, always stating that he would do anything else she wanted to do, even if it was attending a musical, and that she should feel in no way pressured to spend her time with him.

Randall blushed.

“Randall, it was not a relaxed you, who wrote that letter. It was the letter of a worried man trying not to make me worried. But what made me absolutely sure that something was off, was this.”

She pointed to a small dot behind the 'Randall' in the letter.

“You typed the letter. Maybe so your handwriting wouldn't give away the mental state you were in. But, of course, you signed it. You signed it, and because you signed something typed, something official in your mind, you set your fountain pen down again to place a 'Brown' behind the 'Randall'. You stopped yourself just in time.”

“And that made you worried?”

“As I said, the whole letter was prone to worry me, the typing, the wording... but this dot... either you hadn't spotted it upon re-read, or you didn't have the time or the patience to type a new letter and sign it _correctly_. To make it _perfect_. Either way, it told me that you were more or less out of your head, that you were not okay.”

“Oh, Lix!”

He took the letter from her hand, looked at it, chuckled slightly, folded it meticulously and put it back into the inside pocket of her coat. He straightened her coat and her collar. Then, he took both her hands in his.

“Lix, Lix, _my_ Lix, you read me like a book, even if I am not physically there. And there is no way I can hide anything from you, can I? Even if I run to the farthest place North, you will find me. And sometimes I wonder why. Why you burden yourself with an idiot like me.”

She smiled. Well, that was an easy one to answer... it was the one thing she was absolutely sure of.

“Randall, you are not an idiot... you are the man I love. But I think we are more than just lovers... we share a bond which is far deeper than that... I think we are soulmates, we always have to make sure the other is okay. You would have done exactly the same if I went missing, cryptic letter or not. And you would have found me just as inevitably. ”

“True. I would go to hell if you went missing.”

Randall said, raising her hands to his lips, kissing them, gently. Then he wrapped himself around her from behind.

“Look.”

He pointed to the horizon where a pale red lining in the dust above the water indicated where the sun was about to emerge.

“We might not have gotten a northern light, but this is just as beautiful,” she said as the sun slowly rose, glistering red, playing with the silvery-grey of the ocean and the blue-grey of the dust, painting the sky with almost unnatural layers of blue, grey, yellow, and red.

She felt him resting his chin on her shoulder again, murmuring in her ear:

“I do have my northern light here with me. And my guiding North Star. As long as you are with me, I will never be lost.”

She felt tears welling up. Randall really had the ability to move her to tears, this clandestine poet, with his trust and his affection, with his quirks and his flaws, with everything he was and wanted to become.

She allowed herself to lean into him.

“And as long as you have my back like this, I think I can't fall,” she replied.

“I'm not sure if I will always be able to keep you from stumbling, but I will always be there to catch you when you fall, my love.”

“Same,” she smiled, reaching up to caress his head.

“I love you, Lix Storm, I don't ever want to let you go.”

“I don't think you need to.”

She started, until something took over. Something she hadn't felt in years. The urge to joke and tease. Not in a cynical way, to hide her true feelings, but in a genuine way because she felt secure to do so in the arms of the man she loved.

“Well, at some point you have to, Randall, otherwise we are starving on the edge of this cliff and this would be, in all honesty, the stupidest case of a double suicide I ever heard of.”

She felt him giggle quietly, and it was an endearing feeling against her back, and probably the nicest sound she had heard in years.

“Oh, Lix. Lix, Lix, _my_ Lix, of all the things I love about you, this is probably the most important one: you anchor me securely in reality.”

He wrapped his arms even closer around her.

“If my love is satisfied with the morning show the sun has provided, I suggest breakfast at my cottage. And afterwards perhaps catching up on some missed hours of sleep. How does this sound to you?”

“It sounds like an excellent plan, Randall.”

She freed herself from his grip, only to turn around and kiss him. For some reason, if she took initiative he still seemed surprised, as if he still couldn't believe she really loved him and wanted him the same way he did. It was, however, just a microsecond of hesitation.

As the bright morning sun rose over the North Sea near Berriedale, two lovers kissed near the edge of a cliff. It was the same cliff it had been the last few thousand years. For them, however, it changed what it was right in this moment.

This wasn't the place a lonely soul contemplated to end its life anymore. And it wasn't the place a desperate man fled to to regain control over himself. It transformed and became the place where two lovers sealed a bond. It became the place of a promise to never let the other fall no matter how much they stumbled, to hold each other tight, and to have each other's back, always.

Forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a story of two lovers, but it is also a love letter to [Caithness](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Caithness) in the high North of Scotland, to the wild North Sea, to the cliffs, the shores, the meadows, the moors, the valleys, and the hills. You are not my home, but I never felt more at home anywhere else. I miss you, and I hope to see you again, pretty soon.


End file.
